


Legend of Atlantis

by CommanderRoastedWolf



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Atlantis AU, F/F, Korrasami - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3255281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderRoastedWolf/pseuds/CommanderRoastedWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When archeologist Asami Sato finds herself the linguist on a multi-million yuan expedition to find the lost city of Atlantis, she hardly knows what to think. Following in the footsteps of her late father's dream, she helps uncover a whole civilisation. Korrasami. Atlantis AU. Inspired by yakfrost's spectacular drawings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. City Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for this glorious story goes to yakfrost - check out her tumblr: http://yakfrost.tumblr.com and her fabulous drawings: http://yakfrost.tumblr.com/tagged/korrasami-atlantis-au  
> Seriously go check this out!  
> None of this belongs to me! Enjoy!

_‘… in a single day and night of misfortune, the island of Atlantis disappeared into the depths of the sea.'_ – Plato, 360 B.C.

 

* * *

 

A flash in the sky, a roar, and Korra knew nothing but fear.

Her mother’s hand was tight and hot around hers as they fled, her bare feet slapping panic stricken against the cool stone. The sky had fallen dark, furrowed, angry. A volley of a thousand screams rang in her ears as she clutched at her doll, her eyes wide with terror. A terror she did not fully understand.

Lights, red and searching, scoured the world around her, roving over the pillars and towers of her home, issuing like the hands of the Gods from the blooming sun above. Bells hollered their warnings, commands flying thick and fast through the air, a clamour of panic thick enough to taste.

“This way your highness. Quickly!”

Korra twisted to watch as her father staggered away, his staff sharp against the ground. Her mother, voice tight but controlled, commanded her to follow.

Her too short legs struggled to keep up, her doll – her precious Appa – slipped from her grasp.

“No!” She fought against the unyielding pull of her mother’s hand, reaching for the tiny stuffed bison. Her voice was lost amongst the chaos, even as her mother pulled her close and grasped her arms.

“Korra! Just leave it! There’s no time!”

But there _was_ time! She thought, staring into a face she had known for all her days. Staring into a face she would never forget as the red light illuminated her from above. It turned an unearthly blue, and her mother turned away to gaze up into the bruised sky.

All around them, outside the halo of calm, the city was collapsing. Korra watched, teeth digging into her lower lip, hand clasped tight in her mother’s cooling palm. Her father was so far away, being shoved aside roughly, lost in a tide of his people as he stared at her. At her mother.

Her mother’s grip went limp in hers. The lights were coming together now, focusing, blinding, binding. And then she began to rise. Korra stared, heart thundering, mouth open in her childish innocence as her mother was lifted into the sky, the small bracelet slipping off her wrist.

“Mama!” She reached with all her might, stubby fingers brushing against the last lash of her coat. The light in the sky grew white, casting ethereal shadows, filling the world with its awesome, immortal power.

It was a mess of confusion. Tears filled her eyes, spilling over and down her plump cheeks. There were louder screams, shouts – curses. People were running hither and thither.

A pair of strong arms surrounded her, pulling her into a warm and familiarly solid chest.

“Close your eyes, Korra!” Her father. Strong, everlasting. “Look away!”

She did as she was told.

There was a rush of sound. The ground shuddered under her feet, making a squeal of fear erupt out of her.

And then she knew no more.


	2. Old Beginnings

_Republic City – 174 AG: Year of the Dog_

 

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. First off, I’d like to thank this board for taking the time to hear my proposal.” 

Asami Sato peered hawk-like over the makeshift podium, long fingers shuffling through her papers. Her heart tripped with nerves, reading glasses perched idly on the end of her nose. She’d been waiting for this for five years. Five years of hard work, rejection and tears. 

The crowd of Fire Nation masks stared blankly back at her, hats and pipes tilted at jaunty angles. She had despaired, initially, at her inability to get them to stay on straight. However, in hindsight, it had been a good thing. It gave her confidence. When she faced the museum board for real in a few short minutes, she’d recall her tiny basement office and the masks with odd bits and pieces stuck to them. 

“I’m sure you’ve all heard of the legend of Atlantis,” she continued, her voice echoing dimly around the small room, just audible over the throb of the boiler. “A continent somewhere beyond the Fire Nation that was home to an advanced civilisation…”

She knew her speech off by heart. She had the ancient Water Tribe wolf helmet ready and waiting, her maps and coordinates were up to date – she’d slaved over them for hours and hours, drawing and redrawing the South Pole, ensuring it was correct. She was almost ready. Almost. She just wanted to make sure she had _absolutely_ everything in order.

“Why should we care about Atlantis, you may ask.” She shuffled her notes to the side to reveal several homemade picture boards, propping them up to show to the made-believe crowd. “Well, around the time Ba Sing Se was being built, Atlantis had electricity,” she flicked the first board down, showing a photo of Fire Nation hieroglyphs, “advanced medicine – even the power of flight. Impossible, you might say! But no!  Not for them. Numerous ancient cultures from around the globe agreed that Atlantis,” she presented a new picture, detailing Earth Kingdom sculptures of an Atlantian relic, “possessed a power source – more powerful than steam, than coal, even our modern day internal combustion engines.”

Asami allowed herself a moment to breathe. Excitement was bubbling in her stomach, her hands shaking ever so slightly. Surely, when she presented her evidence to the museum board of directors, they would be begging her to go on an expedition.

“Gentlemen, I propose that we find Atlantis, find that power source and bring it back to the surface.” She flicked to another photograph. “Now, this is a page from an illuminated Air Nation text that describes a book called the Shepherd’s Journal; said to have been a first hand account of Atlantis, and its exact whereabouts.”

She pushed her reading glasses higher up her nose, neatly piling her picture boards and shimmying past her podium to the pre-prepared blackboard. She eyed it for a fleeting moment, making sure the Water Tribe glyphs were correct before bending down to hoist a helmet up into the cradle of her arms. It was heavy – iron plated, beautifully wrought into the shape of a snarling wolf. She pressed her fingertips fondly into the curled muzzle, admiring the shapes carved into its forehead. 

“Now, based on a centuries old translation of a Northern Water Tribe text, historians have believed that the Journal resides on the coast the North Pole. However, after comparing the text to the glyphs on this ceremonial Water Tribe wolf helmet, I found that one of the words had been mistranslated.” She shifted the helm into the crook of her left arm, grasping blindly for a dusty cloth and a sick of chalk.

“By changing this word,” she erased ‘ _north’_ from the board, “and inserting the correct one, we find that the Shepherd’s Journal – the key to Atlantis – lies not in the North Pole, gentlemen, but in the _Sou_ –”

The shrill scream of the candlestick telephone broke her train of speech. Carefully, she placed the helmet back onto the floor, her heels clicking against the wooden floorboards towards the phone sat on her cluttered desk. She plucked up the receiver with all the relish of grabbing a poisonous spider, pressing her ear to the speaker.

“Cartography and Linguistics, Asami Sato speaking.”

A muffled, disgruntled voice barked into her ear. She caught the words ‘boiler’, ‘cold’ and ‘blasted heating’.

“Yes… of course. Just… just a sec.”

She placed the phone carefully on the desk, picking her way carefully through the clutter towards the metal monstrosity, which took up at least half the cramped space. She supposed she should count herself lucky, she thought as she picked up a heavy wrench and stepped carefully over the Earth Kingdom badger-mole mask propped against _A History of Fire Nation Scripture_. She was a woman working in archaeology – or, more accurately – a woman working in the linguistics department of the biggest museum in Republic City. Perhaps the biggest in the whole of the United Republic. If it hadn’t been for her late father’s money, she was sure she wouldn’t have even _had_ an education.

Still, it felt pretty lousy that she was stuck in the basement, paying out of her own pocket for research she wished the museum would pay for. She twisted a couple knobs on the boiler and gave it a stern thwack with the wrench. It coughed, spluttered, and then roared to life.

She hurried back to the phone, tucking it into the crook of her shoulder and speaking quickly, “Is that better? Yes? Have a good afternoon, sir.”

She hung up, sighing. Despite how… forward thinking the city was, it was still difficult for women to be taken seriously in a so-called ‘male field’.

The clock chimed four. It was time.

With the refined grace she’d been bred into, she picked up her papers and placed them into a black leather case. She took a slow breath, trying to calm her thundering heart and staring at a small shrine surrounding a black and white photograph. 

Hiroshi Sato stood proud; his familiar brown leather gloves clasped over her six year old self’s shoulders. Portly, kind, his dark eyes crinkled into a pleased smile, her father had died a broken man. Looking at the photo made it hard to believe that just a few short years after it had been taken, he would be half mad with heartbreak.

She placed the briefcase back on the ground, moving to the shrine and a small wooden chest. It was beautifully detailed – jasmine flowers carved into the oak, coiling up and around the edges of the lid. A deep, engrained sadness welled up inside her as she traced her fingertips over the box.

“Nearly there, Dad.” She murmured, before flicking up the latch and opening the chest. Inside was a pair of soft leather gloves. The same gloves her father had worn in the photo. She pulled them on, smiling slightly at the way the too long fingers hung.

The whoosh of the mail chute took her by surprise. Frowning, she leaned over her desk, plucking the small message cache from within and flicking it open. Her eyes scanned the spidery writing, lips forming the words, reading it out to herself.

“Dear Miss Sato, this is to inform you that your meeting today has been moved up from four thirty pm to three thirty pm.” Frowning, heart sinking, she glanced up at the clock, which read five past four. “What…?”

Another whoosh announced the arrival of more, inevitably, bad news. She grabbed it, ignoring the way her father’s gloves slipped on her hands.

“Dear Miss Sato, due to your absence, the board has voted to reject your proposal. Have a nice weekend, Mr Tarrlok’s office? They can’t do this to me!”

Seething, she grabbed her suitcase and stormed up the stairs.

She could not let her father’s death be in vain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie this chapter didn't turn out how I wanted it to. But oh well, writing from film to page is quite hard. Plus, putting the Avatar-verse into a 1900s setting was kind hard. Fun, but hard. I hope I did it well enough? I've decided to cut benders out of this particular story. No benders, no Avatar - just the same world layout. Lemme know how you found it in the comments! I'd love to know!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Look forward to some Korra in the next chapter!
> 
> Also gonna start putting the Shitfic versions of the chapters in the notes that the wonderful LordAxxington wrote for me.


	3. The Brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stalker hunting is Korra's speciality. Trigger warning for: blood, violence, hunting.

_Atlantis – 174 AG: Year of the Dog_

 

Korra’s breath was loud in her ears, puffing hard against the hunting mask adorning her head and face, breaths of air streaming out of the narrow mouth hole. Naga was swift and powerful under her, galloping across the snowy plain, away from the cave path behind them. Around them, the hunting party rode hard, mounted on antlered beasts, churning the snow under their cloven hooves.

She spared her clansmen a glance, taking note of the glowing ornamental masks adorning their heads, pale pelts flying in the wind as they thundered up a slope. The shaft of her spear was steady and heavy in her grip, the razor sharp head moving with the thud of Naga’s paws. The bear-dog’s breath puffed out in gusts from her black nose, pushing out with every slam of those enormously strong forelegs against the ground, her body moving with the easy fluidity of a predator.

They crested the hill, coming to a sudden halt as they surveyed the land. The plain swept out under them, surrounded by the shadows of the yawning cavern. Snow blanketed every surface, untouched and unspoilt, jagged teeth of rock jutting randomly from the spread. It had taken them a week to get here, and yet they had still not caught a single sign of their prey.

The night stalker.

Korra nudged Naga into a walk, guiding her carefully down the steep slope, hips moving fluidly with each step of her steed, the glow of her crystal illuminating her face from below, glowing through her mask’s eyeholes. Behind her, she heard her companions following her lead.

She was the Princess of Atlantis, daughter of Chief Tonraq, leader of the hunting party. It was her duty to lead her clansmen to victory.

It didn’t hurt that she loved the thrill of the hunt.

“We keep moving,” she ordered over her shoulder, her grip around her spear tightening, enjoying the texture of the smooth wood under her palm. “Arrak spotted the stalker further ahead – we’ll pass the Knife Edge, and get to the Skull. We’ll make camp there.”

There was a murmur of agreement, and then Naga was off again, loping easily across the land. Korra stood slightly in the saddle, bending low over the pommel as she watched the ground be eaten away by the bear-dog’s long strides.

The thunder of Naga’s paws drove the memory of the dream further out of her mind.

It had been so long since she had dreamt of that day. It chilled her to know that she could recall the exact expression on her mother’s face.

Korra forced her thoughts away, concentrating on the ragged thunder of her heart, the cool bite of the wind on her arms. If she had it her way, she would forever be on the hunt, just her and Naga, exploring the depths of her home. The cavern ceiling wheeled above, distant and removed as the sky, fangs of ice hovering precariously from it, hundreds of feet above. She tilted her head back to stare up at them, enjoying the feeling of the breeze teasing at the gaps in her mask. Carved into Naga’s likeness, it was a fierce slate recreation of the bear-dog’s face, complete with a mane of long white fur that cascaded down her back like a cloak. She could still remember the day she finished carving it, could still remember her first hunting trip while wearing it.

Korra sighed the remembrance away, casting her gaze ahead to the narrow stone path trailing out of the snow. She directed Naga to it with a soft dig of her heel into the bear-dog’s side. Behind her, she could hear the tired snorting of her clansmen’s mounts.

They had been riding all day, stopping only to check for tracks and to allow their steeds a drink. Yet their search had been fruitless – the night stalker was not usually a creature that hid from hunters. It was something Korra had learnt to admire about the insect – it usually faced its enemies head on.

Korra lead the company of hunters down the narrow stone path, slowing Naga to a walk as they followed the trail, sparing the spiralling depths to their left a glance. The ravine below filled her with a wild sense of freedom, especially when the wind rushed up to meet her, sinking its fingers into her mane of fur. Naga huffed in a content sort of way; Korra felt her ribs expand under her legs.

The path took them into a tight passage, leading them away from the cold of the cavern and into a warm tunnel. The light from their crystals drove away the dark, creating a halo of blue as they ventured deeper. Naga’s claws clicked lightly against the stone ground, her every breath echoing around them. Water dripped idly from the ceiling, pattering against their masks. Korra shifted slightly in her saddle, ears pricked for sound of danger.

Night stalkers were known to lurk in tunnels, concealing themselves in cracks in the rock, waiting for unsuspecting prey to wander past.

The group continued slowly, Korra in the lead, heading towards a distant light, gleaming in the far distance. Strange carvings and words paved the walls, illuminated by the glow of their crystals. Her eyes traced over the alien – yet familiar – images and hieroglyphs, wishing she could comprehend them. It was her one regret, a failing she had been paying for her whole life.

The tunnel opened up into a new cavern, the ceiling falling away to another dizzying height. Korra drew Naga to a halt, pushing her mask up onto the crown of her head, brows drawn close together in a concentrated frown.

“Wait.”

Her clansmen stopped in their tracks. She dismounted smoothly, her whole body tight and controlled as she stalked forwards, spear clenched in her hand. There, near the wall – a cut in the stone. She traced a fingertip over it, feeling the grit of dust under her skin. Fresh.

“A night stalker was here. Recently. It’ll probably still be in the area and we’re right behind it.”

She jogged back to Naga, thrilled with excitement, relishing the eager murmurs of her fellow hunters. Hoisting herself back into the saddle, she urged the bear-dog forwards, grinning as she tugged the mask back over her face. The clay was a comforting weight against her, the shrug of the pelt cloak warm on her back.          

Naga loped easily across the stone floor, jumping over cracks in the ground with ease, making sure to run slow enough for the other hunters to keep up. Korra kept a tight grip on the front of her saddle, casting her gaze around her, keeping Naga close to the wall and looking for further sighs of the stalker.

There! A flash of black reflecting the light from her crystal. A coiling, slithering carapace half concealed in a fracture in the stone floor.

Korra pulled Naga to a dead halt, pushing against her back until the bear-dog crouched low to the ground, flattening themselves as much as possible. She heard the rustle of leathers as her hunters dismounted, allowing herself a moment before sliding off Naga’s back.

Her boots were light and quiet against the ground, her spear held tightly in both hands as she stalked forwards in a low crouch. The creature in the crack shifted, the course grate of carapace against stone echoing towards her, confirming her hunch.

Night stalker.

She moved forwards as quickly as she dared, using all her limbs to move beast-like towards the stalker’s hiding place. She made sure her spear did not scrape carelessly against the rock, mindful that any sound would alert the stalker to her presence. Behind her, her clansmen followed, moving with careful precision, just as they had practiced a hundred times over. Korra trusted them with her life.

She reached the crack, curling her fingers over the razor edge, pushing her mask up so she could look down. The night stalker was curled into a tight ball, coiled up around a small sac of eggs. So it was a breeding female? All the better for them – females were particularly fierce.

Korra shuffled slowly away, turning to peer over her shoulder, directing her hunters to flank the crack. They obeyed at once, darting soundlessly around, spears raised. She drew her mask back over her face, securing it in place, tracing her fingertips against the carved patterns in the clay, murmuring a prayer to the ancestors. May they guide her spearhead to victory.

She gave a final signal to her hunters, pleased when they motioned that they were ready.

Heart throbbing, breath quick and sharp with excitement, Korra turned back to the night stalker’s lair, shifting to crouch on the very edge, staring down at the great creature’s solid black armour. It was shifting, coiling like some huge snake, its many hundreds of legs skittering against the walls of its home. It was ten feet long at least, the sharp angles of its mandibles and the deadly spike at its tail showing Korra that this night stalker was an elder of its species. That meant experience. Indeed, she could see a savage gash in its armour. It had been hunted before.

Good. She liked a challenge.

Korra acted instinctively. She threw herself over the edge of the crack, landing hard on the night stalker’s back. It let out an ear-piercing scream, coming to life at once, lunging upwards. Korra held on for dear life, fingers digging into the stalker’s carapace, her spear held aloft as she rode the creature out into the open.

Her hunters scattered like leaves, scampering amongst the rocks, the stalker writhing and hissing madly, its eggs forgotten. Korra threw herself off its back, rolling to a stand as Naga skidded to a halt beside her, teeth bared in a rumbling snarl. She heaved herself into the saddle, shoving her feet into the stirrups and wheeling the bear-dog around, urging her away as the night stalker reared up. Its mandibles clashed together, its tail slamming hard against the ground, eight vermillion eyes glowing in the half dark of the cavern.

She gave a bellowing yell, glaring into the stalker’s many eyes as she raised her spear above her head in challenge. It snarled, twisting to face her fully, tail arched, the sharp spike shining slightly. Naga lowered her head, growling thunderously; Korra could feel the vibrations through her legs.

She allowed herself a few moments, savouring the seconds of calm before the fight. The night stalker was coiling itself up, tensing itself, preparing to fight – she could see the green venom dripping from its mouthparts.

“Charge!”

She dug her heels into Naga’s side and the bear-dog leaped into a gallop. Korra filled her lungs with air, unleashing a wild battle cry as the stalker screeched and launched towards her, red eyes ablaze. They ate up the distance between them – Korra hardly heard the encouraging shouts of her clansmen, listening only to the drum of her heart, the sawing of her breath. Hunter and prey were about to meet with a clash of spear against carapace when Naga dodged to the side, teeth bared. The sharp spear tip glanced off the stalker’s hardened shell, scratching the sleek black as its many legs writhed in fury.

Korra gave another shout, steering Naga away as the night stalker stabbed at the ground with its tail, narrowly avoiding the attack. Her clansmen were around her, astride their own mounts, spears raised, aiming for the night stalker’s weak spot – a gap in its armoured back. Korra dug her heel into Naga’s side, making her dance away as the night stalker twisted its long body, mandible parting as it hissed. She glared through her mask into the vermillion eyes, sweat cool on her dark skin. The fiery arrow of excitement burned through her veins, tightening her grip on her spear’s shaft.

She barked a command and Naga sprang forward, rising up and swatting hard at the night stalker’s head with one enormous paw. It uttered another piercing scream, which made the cavern ceiling shudder alarmingly.

The night stalker reared up, baring the softer yellow shell of its underbelly as it spat glowing green liquid. The acid sailed past Korra’s head, landing near Naga’s hind paw, eating through the stone. Heart thundering, she urged the bear-dog away, cursing softly, twisting in the saddle as her clansmen circled the creature. It darted forwards, driving the group of hunters further into the cavern, hissing furiously, red eyes aglow as its many legs skittered across the floor.

Naga’s paws pounded against the stone ground, matching the frantic hammering of Korra’s heart in her throat as she raced forwards. Together, rider and steed rode seamlessly, moving together as the bear-dog leaped over a fallen rock, roaring together as Korra stood up on the saddle, tensing her legs, holding her spear tightly. They were getting closer and closer, watching as the stalker reared up again, the gurgling in its throat telling her that it was preparing to spit again.

She threw herself off the saddle and into the air, howling with excitement, driving her spear downwards, landing hard on the stalker’s head, burying the shaft deep into its brain through its eye. Blood spurted out of its wound, soaking her boots and trousers with poisonous yellow. The spearhead emerged out of the back of the night stalker’s head, dripping with bright blood. The stalker screamed, writhing as though it had been set alight. Korra hung on with all her might, yelling wildly, yanking a dagger off her belt and plunging it into another of the stalker’s eyes.

The scream reached a fevered pitch – Korra’s ears ached with the sound of it, her mouth still open in a savage howl – before the stalker collapsed to the ground, its tail writhing madly before going eerily still.

She stayed hunched over the stalker’s dead body, panting hard, sweat pouring off her face, her hands cramped around the handle of her knife. Her hunters were around her, watching on, silent in the vigil.

With a grunt, she wrenched the dagger out of the stalker’s eye, stepping away from its head before digging her fingers under the plating, heaving and cursing in exertion as she dragged the head upwards. Her arms bulged with the strain, dark skin shining in the light from her crystal as she shoved the stalker’s dead body over her shoulders, straightening her arms. Blood leaked down her arms, seeping into her clothes, the tang of it playing at the back of her mouth as she pushed herself up onto her feet.

Finally, standing upright, the stalker’s head held high above her own, her hunters erupted into triumphant shouts.

She was Princess Korra of Atlantis, proud daughter of Tonraq, heir to the throne. A leader amongst her hunters, an accomplished warrior, general of her father’s army.

Her people expected nothing less of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me real trouble.
> 
> Shitfics:
> 
> Chapter 1:  
> “mum no” said korra  
> “bye korra um…. Don’t be gay in the future” said fucking senna or whatever he r name is   
> “2 late” said korra


	4. Kuvira

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asami meets a mysterious woman, and her journey begins!

Asami sniffed as she pushed her way out of the museum doors, huddled miserably under the collar of her coat. Her father’s gloves were taut over the fingers clenched around her briefcase’s handle, her heels making soft little clicking sounds on the stone steps as she hurried down them, eyes watering.

She had failed.

 _No_ the museum board had _failed her_. She had dedicated almost her whole life to continuing her father’s research and, on the cusp of a real discovery; the board had shut her down. So she’d resigned. Or tried to. Mr Tarrlok had point blank refused her resignation, throwing the letter back in her face and telling her that she was ‘wasting her talent’.

She cried all the way to the bus stop.

Rain started to patter sweetly against the pavement as she drew up to the small shelter. She brushed the soft leather of her father’s glove against her wet cheek, a staggered sigh juttering out of her, her watery eyes making the half-lit street a blur. The evening was cold, the rain falling harder. Asami tucked herself under the roof of the bus stop, clutching her briefcase to her chest, huddling into the warmest corners of her coat.

It just wasn’t fair. It was unbelievably frustrating being ordered around by some big shot like Tarrlok, especially when she _knew_ she was right.

She brushed her tears away angrily, glaring hard at the ground. She’d shed enough sorrow over Tarrlok and his lackeys. Her age-old determination was rising again, a fire in her belly as lightning arched across the sky. Thunder rumbled in the near distance, the shelter’s roof shivering under the pelting rain. What did they know? The museum board knew _nothing_. Asami Sato wasn’t about to let some old stuffed up men tell her what she could and couldn’t do. She’d resign properly from the museum, start her own funding – perhaps get in contact with some of her father’s old business associates. She had his book of numbers in the house somewhere, tucked away in a box. Along with everything else she had of her father’s.

The bus came to a halt before her and she climbed aboard, eyebrows furrowed as she handed her fare to the driver. He grunted something about the evening and she bobbed her head in thanks before settling herself in a chair, her case settled on her knees.

Hiroshi Sato had been an inspiration to many – as a young man, travelling with the sand tribes in the Earth Kingdom, he’d discovered Wan Shi Tong’s library, an ancient ruin lost amongst the sands. Said to have been brought to the material world from the spirit world, the library had contained over a thousand texts, detailing almost everything about times past. It had been there that her father had found a text on Atlantis. Using the money he’d made from his discoveries, he’d poured his life into finding the lost continent, infecting Asami with his passion.

Asami bit her lip at the memory of sitting on her father’s knee, waving her small legs around as he read to her out of an Air Nation scroll. Those had been happier days – her mother had still been alive. An assistant lecturer at the university and a leader of the women’s rights movement, Yasuko Sato had paved the way for women to get an education.

But then the bad years had come. For all of her father’s wealth and fortune, and all of her mother’s determination, even they couldn’t escape calamity. Asami had been six when her mother had died.

The bus came to a shuddering halt at the next stop. Asami shifted, heaving a sigh and watching the rivulets of water on the window. Night had truly fallen – the streetlamps were shimmering in the rain, casting cones of light onto the shining pavements. The streets were practically empty. Here and there was a darkly huddled figure, hunched under their umbrella. Lightning parted the sky again like a flash of realisation, brushing the edges of the buildings and highlighting the city with light. Her stomach turned hard with anger as she remembered Tarrlok’s words, her teeth clenching together.

She wasn’t ‘flushing her career away’, and her father hadn’t either. The _nerve_ – he’d accused her father of being mad! Granted, Hiroshi Sato hadn’t been the most balanced of people at his death aged fifty-two. But that didn’t mean he’d been mad.

Asami got to her feet as the bus came to a shuddering stop. It was still raining heavily as she stepped out into the cold night, breath smoking before her. She pulled the collar of her coat up higher around her neck, walking quickly down the pavement, feeling her ribs shudder. Autumn and winter in Republic City had never been this cool. Usually, summer reigned during the autumnal months, only giving in to winter during late December. It was a rarity to see snow other than on the mountains surrounding the city.

Thunder growled overhead as she came to a halt outside her home, the narrow beams of the bus’s headlights making the puddles glow. Her apartment building was old. The only way Asami could think to describe it was to liken it to an old, sagging tree, leaning slightly to the left. The concrete steps leading up to the front door were worn and wilted as though they bore the weight of a thousand footsteps. Perhaps, she mused as she headed up them, keys in hand, they had.

The hallway beyond smelt of damp and disinfectant, the paint pealing idly off the walls, shrugging itself away from the plaster. Asami sighed softly as she closed the door and the heat washed over her. Despite her apartment’s age the boiler worked just fine.

She checked her mailbox, noting that it was (again) empty before starting up the creaky old stairs, a hand out on the banister to steady her as she dragged herself upwards.

Spirits, she was exhausted. She’d been up at half past four that morning to get ready for her presentation, and in the office by six. And all her time had been wasted. The bitter lump of regret and frustration was buoyed up her throat, sticking there as she climbed the steps. Yes, she’d resign tomorrow – for this evening, though, she was going to open up that bottle of wine she’d been saving, put on one of her father’s old records, and have a nice evening to herself.

The black back of her door was a bone-aching relief. She groaned softly, slumping against it and reaching down, slipping her heels off and rubbing her sore feet. Above, the lampshade swung in a slight breeze from the cracked open window, casting shadows as her gloved fingers fumbled for her keys.

“Oh, come on…” she muttered as her keys thudded loudly to the floor. She leaned down, plucking them up and slotting them into the keyhole. The thunk of the lock was music to her ears and she shoved open the door, tossing her shoes in with twin clatters and sighing tiredly.

She closed the door with a resounding finality. Her stomach growled loudly in the darkness, her fingers sliding down the doorknob and flicking the lock closed. She kept her eyes shut in the comforting dark. Home. Her apartment was a cramped little thing on seventh, full of lush red carpets and squishy armchairs. It was a modest downgrade from the mansion she’d grown up in – her father had spent his money on expeditions and research, eventually ending up penniless and on the street. She’d been eighteen at the time, fresh out of school, about to enter Republic City University.

She flicked the light on, but nothing happened.

She opened her eyes, frowning slightly, flicking the switch again. Was the power out? She’d paid her bills on time, and she’d expected someone to tell her if she was late on a payment.

She flicked it again, somehow still expecting light to burst out of the bulb above her.

“Miss Asami Sato.” The rich female voice electrified the silence. Asami’s hand was on the butt of the gun strapped to her waist within seconds, yanking the heavy metal out and pointing it into the dark.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the space by her armchair. A woman was standing by the window, her black hair pulled back into a tight bun, eyes narrow and dark as she regarded Asami with cool detachment.

“Who are you?” Asami demanded, lowering her gun slightly as the woman’s eyebrow rose sharply. “How… how did you get in here?”

The woman’s lips curled into a smirk as she lowered herself into Asami’s chair, her fur lined coat bunching up around her shoulders.

“I came down the chimney.” She drawled, her voice low and inviting. “Ho ho ho.” Asami took note of the small beauty spot adorning the space under her eye as the woman crossed her long, sublime legs. “My name is Kuvira. I’m acting on behalf of my employer who has a most…” the woman cast around for a fitting word, brushing the sleek line of her dress down her thigh. Asami’s eye followed the movement, a lump forming in her throat, “intriguing proposition for you.”

Their eyes met again and Kuvira’s lips bowed into another narrow smirk before she spoke, voice husky. “Are you interested?”

Asami shoved the gun away, stammering slightly as she pulled her coat tighter around her. “Y-your employer? Who is your employer?”

“I believe you’re about to find out.”

 

…

 

Asami still wasn’t really sure how she’d ended up in the automobile with the mysterious Kuvira. All she knew was that one moment she’d been standing in her apartment, wrestling with barely comprehended feelings of attraction and an overpowering sense of curiosity, and the next she’d been staggering back down the stairs and being shoved into the front seat.

Kuvira did not speak as she drove them through the quiet city. Her intense gaze was fully focused ahead, her gloved fingers wrapped around the steering wheel with an element of complete and utter control – as though she was coolly throttling something. Asami had never met anyone so coldly calculating before. Actually, she’d never met a woman quite like Kuvira before. All her female acquaintances were either married or out of contact.

Asami hadn’t made very many friends growing up. Too absorbed in her schoolwork, and then her research.

Kuvira soon left the rugged apartment buildings behind, exchanging them for sweeping driveways and towering gates. Asami stared at them all, mouth half open, memories playing idly in the back of her mind: running down a narrow stone path towards the blurry figure of her mother; walking with her arms spread on the edge of a wall, her father’s warm hand clasped around her own; the weightless feeling of the pool’s water as she splashed around while her parents watched on.

Rain still hammered on the roof of the automobile, thunder rolling overhead as Kuvira turned them into a long, stretched drive. Asami only had a fleeting moment to take in imposing wrought iron gates, and a bronze sign with the word WHITMORE carved into it, before they were moving through the stone pillars and heading up the driveway. Neat little hedges lined their way, lion statues watching on as they meandered up towards a magnificent mansion.

Asami fiddled nervously at the handle of her briefcase, noting vaguely that her father’s gloves were still on her hands. She’d forgotten to take them off.

Kuvira drew the automobile alongside a flight of impressive steps, wrenching the machine to a halt before sliding out into the rain. Asami scrambled out after her, shutting the door and following Kuvira up the stairs. Her heels clicked on the granite below; Asami’s eyes darted to the length of the other woman’s legs peaking out of that impressive dress. Spirits above, Kuvira was intimidating.

The enormous doors creaked open at their approach, a stuffy looking butler welcoming them in, taking Kuvira’s coat with practiced ease. Asami could do nothing except gawp at the impressive trophies lining the entrance hall – Fire Nation suits of armour, portraits of famous monarchs, weapons from every era… Kuvira’s employer seemed to be some sort of historical collector. But what they’d want with Asami was beyond her.

“This way, please,” Kuvira ordered, yanking Asami’s attention away from an Air Nation robe. “And don’t drip on the carpet.”

Asami shrugged her wet coat off guiltily, hurrying after Kuvira’s long legged steps as the butler took it from her. A fire was roaring in the grate, casting dancing shadows as she rushed to keep apace with the strange woman.

“Step lively, Mister Whitmore does not like to be kept waiting.” Kuvira came to a halt at a beautifully crafted iron lift, leaning idly against the frame. Asami entered, taking note of the other woman’s smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

The lift door closed with a clatter and began to sink. The warmth of the room beyond faded into dim half dark as Kuvira started pulling at her clothes, neatening her up.

“You will address him as ‘Mister Whitmore’ or ‘Sir’.” Kuvira’s long fingers tugged at her collar, “You will stand unless asked to be seated.” She hastily brushed a stray lock of Asami’s hair into place, dark eyes sharp and observant. “Keep your sentences short and to the point. Are we clear?”

Asami’s heart had lodged itself uncomfortably somewhere between her chest and her mouth, thumping painfully as her stomach tittered with nerves. This was sounding more and more like a job interview. Or a court hearing – not that she’d been to many of those. Or any at all, in fact. But she nodded all the same, mentally preparing herself as the lift came to a shuddering halt and the doors were swept open.

“And relax,” Kuvira said at last, giving Asami a small shove into the dim room. “He doesn’t bite. Often.”

Asami cast one last nervous look at Kuvira’s smug face before the lift rose away. She had a creeping sense that her salvation was drifting away with Kuvira’s absence.

The room appeared to be some sort of cavernous library – towering bookcases lined the walls, historical artefacts dotting the space around her. She stared around, fingers wrapped tightly around her briefcase’s handle like a lifeline. A fire was flickering in the hearth, illuminating plush leather couches and an ornate coffee table. Her eyes traced the air bison carved into the marble fireplace, flicking up to stare into a hauntingly familiar face.

A portrait of her father was hung there, standing next to a strange man with eccentric hair. Her heart leapt, breath catching in her throat as unease thrilled down her spine. She didn’t like being caught unawares, didn’t like having her father’s presence sprung on her.

“Finest explorer I ever met.”

Asami jumped, heart in mouth, twisting around to see an older gentleman performing what looked to be traditional Air Nation fighting forms. He had a wild mane of black hair, going slightly grey at the temples; Asami had a fleeting vision of an aged lion.

“Bumi Whitmore, pleasure to meet you, Asami.” He extended a hand and she took it, surprised at the strength of his grip. “Care to join me?” He released her and bent into a rather painful looking arch, his spine cracking loudly. Asami took a slight step back, spotting the bright blue boxers showing through Mister Whitmore’s open robe.

“Oh, no. Thank you.” She winced as he twisted his head to the side, contorting his arms around his body. She gave him a moment to complete the form before speaking. “Did you really know my father?”

“Oh yeah,” Mister Whitmore said jovially, grasping his leg and pulling it up over his neck, hooking it around the back of his head. “Met old Hiroshi back in Ba Sing Se, class of ’41. We stayed close friends till the end of his days.” The man gave a boisterous laugh. “He used to drag me along on some of his danged fool expeditions – crazy as a wolf-bat he was. He spoke of you often.”

Under Asami’s growing bewilderment at the situation, a small bubble of awkwardness rose in her chest. She nibbled her lip. “I’m sorry, but he never mentioned you.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t!” Mister Whitmore twisted up onto his hands, performing a rather wobbly handstand. “He knew how much I liked my privacy! I keep a low profile.”

Asami watched as the robe slipped down to pool around Mister Whitmore’s face, revealing skinny pale legs. She cleared her throat slightly, kneeling down to address the eccentric man.

“Mister Whitmore, should I be wondering why I’m here?”

“Look on the table.”

She got to her feet, turning to peer at a small table beside the fire. On it, framed by the light, was a package wrapped in brown paper and a string, tattered at the edges as though it had been prepared a long time ago and forgotten in the depths of some attic. She walked towards it, frowning at the scrawled handwriting covering the top, which was so like her own.

‘For Asami, with love Hiroshi Sato.’

“It’s… it’s from my father.” Asami said, placing her briefcase on the ground and picking the package up. She feasted her eyes on the scribble of words, absorbing the curl of the ‘s’ and the pointed dot over the ‘i’. She wrote her ‘s’s like he did, but he crossed his ‘f’s like a strike, the pen digging into the paper with the fierce confidence she was sure her father had lost. For one staggering moment, she imagined that her father was still alive, perhaps in hiding from the people who had scorned him – she half expected him to leap out from behind one of the potted plants.

No, that was impossible. She’d been to his funeral; watched his body lowered into the ground in a black coffin.

“He brought me that package years ago. He said if anything were to happen to him…” Asami tore her eyes away to stare at Mister Whitmore as he performed some stretches that should have been beyond a man of his age. “I should give it to you when you were ready! Whatever that means.”

She turned back to the innocent little package, her heart pounding in her chest as her fathers gloves traced over the worn paper. Her hands were shaking slightly. She took a deep breath before loosening the string. The paper fell away neatly, slipping away as though it had been waiting for her.

Inside was… a book.

Leather, and bound by iron bands, the book was a decidedly heavy weight in her hands. She stared down at it, astounded, awed – unable to believe what she was seeing. The curling rune detailing the front in gold could mean only one thing.

“It… it can’t be…” Her voice shook as she spoke, her mouth going dry. “It’s the Shepherd’s Journal.”

She turned on her heel to stare dazedly at Mister Whitmore, who was drinking deeply from a goblet of wine. He didn’t look at her, staring steadily into the depths of his glass.

“Mister Whitmore,” she continued, “this Journal is the key to finding the lost continent of Atlantis!”

 A gale of laughter made the hairs on the nape of her neck stand up in irritation. Mister Whitmore cast her an amused look, his lips forming a crooked grin.

“Atlantis? Hah! I wasn’t born yesterday, lass.”

He ducked behind an ornate Earth Kingdom dressing screen. Asami frowned, pealing open the Journal’s pages, absorbing the runes set into the parchment, examining the illuminations and diagrams.

“No, look – coordinates, clues. It’s all right here!”

Mister Whitmore’s head darted out from behind the screen, his grey eyes glancing carelessly at the pages before he retreated again.

“Ah, looks like gibberish to me.”

“That’s because it’s been written in a dialect that no longer exists.” She replied confidently, flicking to a new page detailing a monstrous beast, leaping out from the sea.

“So it’s useless.” The robe appeared over the top of the screen. Asami shook her head.

“No, just difficult. I’ve spent my whole life studying dead languages. It’s not gibberish to me.”

Mister Whitmore suddenly reappeared, dressed in a fine white suit. He straightened his tie, his nose upturned. “Ah, it’s probably a fake.”

Asami shut the Journal with a snap, a spark flaring up her spine as she stared blindly at the wall. A fake? A _fake_? This Mister Whitmore sounded more and more like the museum board at every passing moment. Sounded more and more like the people who had driven her father to his grave. A wave of sickening anger descended on her and her hand tightened into a fist. She took a steadying breath, turning to glare into Mister Whitmore’s back.

“Sir, my father would have known if this were a fake.” Her voice was surprisingly even, if a little cold. “ _I_ would know. I will stake everything I own, everything I _believe in_ that this is the genuine Shepherd’s Journal.”

She pressed her gloved hand against the Journal’s cover, feeling the bumps of the rune under her fingers, staring intently at the old man as he watched her impassively.

“All right.” He said after a moment. “All right. So, what do you want to do with it?”

“I’ll get funding.” She replied at once, following him as he walked towards a large table in front of a colossal aquarium lining the far wall. “I mean, I’ll… the museum–”

“They’ll never believe you.” He threw himself into a chair, fiddling with the head of his cane.

She paced up and down, animated, excited, full of hope. “I will show them. I’ll make them believe.”

“Like you did today?”

“Yes!” Asami twisted to stare at him, amazed once more at the man’s knowledge. “Well, no. How did you– Forget about them. Never mind!” She started pacing again, clutching the Journal in one hand. “I will find Atlantis on my own. I mean, if I have to rent a rowboat!”

“Congratulations Asami.” Mister Whitmore said, his voice carefully measured, his dark eyes twinkling kindly in the light from the illuminated aquarium. Asami paused in her pacing, confused. “This is exactly what I wanted to hear.”

He leaned forward, crooked grin back in place, his hair looking as wild as ever as he reached forward to press a small red button.

“But forget the rowboat. We’ll travel in style.”

The top of the table slid away to reveal a scale model of an impressive submarine. Asami gawked as she absorbed the tiny replicas of boats, cars – even a brilliant red hot air balloon. She glanced at Mister Whitmore, who looked ecstatic at her amazement.

“It’s all been arranged.”

“Why?” She asked.

Mister Whitmore got to his feet, speaking as he walked. “For years your father bent my ear with stories about that old book. I didn’t buy it for a minute!” He trotted neatly around the table, repositioning the little models neatly. “So finally I got fed up and made a bet with the old coot!” He moved swiftly to a picture sitting on a low table, smiling to himself. “I said ‘Sato, if you ever actually find that so-called Journal, not only will I finance the damn expedition but I’ll kiss you full on the mouth.’” He flashed the picture towards her, showing a captured moment with her father and Mister Whitmore leaning away from each other, expressions of disgust captured in yellow and black. She felt a smile tighten across her face, noting how much younger and happier her father looked.

“Imagine my embarrassment when he found the darn thing.” Mister Whitmore put the picture back down, laughing softly as he shifted away to stand in front of the fire. “Now, I know your father’s gone, Asami. May he rest in peace, but Bumi Whitmore is a man who keeps his word.” He suddenly whipped his cane up to slap its end against the portrait, staring up at her father. “You hear that, Sato? I’m going to the afterlife with a clear conscience, by thunder!”

He stood there, framed by the flames, looking suddenly very old and very tired. He leaned on his cane and Asami ventured forwards, still holding the Journal tightly.

“Your father was a great man. You probably don’t realise how great.” His voice dropped to a low, fierce growl. “Those buffoons at the museum dragged him down, made a laughing stock of him.” He sighed, and Asami listened, letting him finish. “If I could bring back just one shred of proof, that’d be enough for me.”

Mister Whitmore’s shoulders pulled in tight around him, casting a long sad shadow across the plush Air Nation carpet. “Ah, Sato.”

And suddenly his demeanour changed. He whipped around, bouncing back towards her, grinning again. “What are we standing around for? We’ve got work to do!”

Asami watched as he bounded past her, back to the table. The words were hesitant on her lips. “But, Mister Whitmore in order to do what you’re proposing… you’re going to need a crew.”

“Taken care of!” He drew out several files, dropping them on the table beside the submarine.

“You’ll need engineers and geologists…”

“We’ve got ‘em all. The best of the best!” He spread the files out and she approached to stare into a group of faces. They all looked serious – cast in black and white and ready for business. “Self styled ‘Prince’ Wu,” Mister Whitmore began, pointing to a large nosed young man, “geology and excavation. Varrick, demolitions expert.” She took in a photo of a thin dark-skinned man with a pointed moustache. “We busted him out of a Republic City jail some time ago. Opal,” she examined a young woman with fierce eyes. “But don’t let her age fool you – she knows more about engines and you and I will ever know.” He gathered the files up again, putting them into a neat pile. “They’re the same crew that brought the Journal back.”

Asami cast the old man a sideways glance, speaking quietly. “Where was it?”

He turned, grinning at her, his eyes glowing in the firelight.

“The South Pole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I figured Asami would totally not be passive at the discovery some strange woman had entered her home. Hence the gun. Hope you enjoyed! Please leave a review!
> 
> Shitfic:
> 
> Asami and Kuvira has kinky sex and then they were like ok we d better fuckng go to atlantis or some shit. So they were like yip yip and went on the submaribe and mako and wu were boning and it was like.. get ur penises out of here. And then they arrived in atlantis. “holy shit””” said asami. That princess is fucking sexy” “NO ASAM you must concentrate on you r work” said Kuvira . but it was too late. They did it for the first time
> 
> ‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHERFUCKERS???!!” it was….
> 
> ZAHEER!


	5. Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonraq is there, Korra gets angry, the Hunters put on a show.

Korra mounted the steps to her father’s throne, boots heavy against the rock, fingers tight around the leather bag swung over her shoulder. Tonraq’s sharp eyes were fixed on her; gnarled hands curled over the arms of his seat, impressive even in frailty. Behind her, Naga stood watch, sat beside the pool of water dominating the throne room.

It had been a week since the fight in the cavern. It had taken them that long to return to Atlantis, hauling the night stalker on a makeshift sled through the snow, back along the hidden path through the rocks and across the rickety bridge. Korra was half exuberant, half exhausted – she hadn’t slept for two days in an effort to reach the city before the harvest celebration.

“Leave us.” Tonraq commanded, his voice roughly hewn. The sentries bowed their heads before leaving the room, the heavy stone doors thundering shut. Korra stood proud, watching her father as he traced his fingers over the carvings in the stone.

“They say you hunted well.” He stated. Korra fought to contain her grin, instead kneeling at his feet, placing the bag down and opening it. The night stalker’s head rolled out, pincers gleaming in the evening light; its red eyes were dark and lifeless, the raw spear wound gaping.

“It was an honour.” She replied, staying in her kneel, her fingers dark against the cool ground. “But I couldn’t have done it without my hunters.” There was a moment of silence, before her father laughed his rich, deep laugh.

“Come here, let me see you.”

She got to her feet, buzzing with pride as she approached her father’s throne. He was smiling at her, brilliant blue eyes reflecting the light from the crystal around his neck. She grinned back, lightheaded joy filling her insides like a balloon.

“They say you fought like a hero of old,” her father said, “I wish I could have been there to see it.”

Korra reached forward, grasping hold of his hand. It was warm and safe under hers, calloused from years of hunting and fighting and ruling their people. She traced the veins and wrinkles as she spoke. “Come with us next time. You haven’t been hunting with me for a long time. I’m much better than I was when I was a child, you know.”

His fingers wound around hers – tight, strong, eternal. But before he could speak, a cough wracked his frame, crackling in the silence around them, heaving his whole body forwards in his seat. Korra’s eyes widened in alarm and she let go of his hand, hurrying to the pitcher of water set on a spindly table.

“Here.” She said, filling a clay cup and holding it out to him. He wheezed a thanks, taking a drink, greedily gulping the liquid down, his eyes clenched tight in relief or pain – she could not tell.

Despite Tonraq’s seemingly everlasting strength and longevity, he was dying. He knew it; Korra knew it. Everyone knew it. That didn’t mean she wanted to accept it. He had been a steady presence in her life for as long as she could remember, teaching her everything she knew: how to hunt, how to rule, how to fight and protect their people from harm. But even a hundred thousand years of his life was not long enough for her.

“Baba?” She asked softly, watching nervously as he surfaced from his cup, his tongue darting out to lick the water from his lips.

“I’m alright.” He said weakly, setting the mug aside and reclining back into his seat. She darted forward, a cloth in hand, and dipped it into the pitcher, wiping his forehead gently.

“You didn’t tell me it was getting worse.” She murmured, biting her lip before pressing a sweet little kiss to the top of his head. He gave a ragged sigh, his mouth forming a thin line of displeasure.

“You didn’t need to know.” He replied gently, pushing her away slightly.

“Of course I needed to know!” She threw the cloth aside, the spark of anger flaring to life in her belly. “You’re my father! I need to know if you’re well! You said it was just a small cough and I come back two weeks later and you’re still sick! You can’t exclude me from things like this!”

“Korra–” He looked suddenly ancient, his eyes sagging with an age of fatigue. But she cut across him, half shouting, frustrated by his skeletal appearance, frustrated by his mortality.

“You don’t get to hide things like this from me! I need you to–”

“Enough!” His voice was a roar, erupting out of his thin frame with surprising strength. Korra clamped her mouth shut, glowering as Tonraq straightened in his throne, face carved and steady like one of his hunting masks. “You do not get to tell me what to do. You have your own duties, and I have mine. One of those is making sure you can do what you need to without distraction – the healers tell me I will be fine. It’s just a cough. It’s nothing to worry about.”

She tore her eyes away from his, glaring hard at the floor, a lump forming like a stone in her throat. He didn’t want her to worry? Too late. But she would rather die than admit that she was afraid.

“Fine.” She retorted, straightening her spine to cast him one last look of defiant fury before turning on her heel and stomping back down the steps. Naga dragged herself to her feet, whining softly as Korra approached.

“Korra…”

“I’m going to perform my duties.” She said coldly, hauling herself up into Naga’s saddle, shoving her boots into the stirrups. “We have a feast to prepare for. I’m going to get washed and rested.”

She didn’t let her father speak. Instead, she wheeled Naga around, urging her back across the path through the pond and towards the heavy stone doors. They opened at her approach, the sentries stationed there avoiding her gaze as she passed. The loss of her mother, Senna, had haunted her her entire life. She saw the moment over and over in dreams – the bright light in the sky that had stolen her mother away from her. She was terrified at what her dreams would become when her father finally died.

Naga huffed sympathetically as Korra squeezed her heels, making the bear-dog trot neatly down the walled path. Her claws clicked against the ground, her tail swishing at the cooling evening air.

Tonraq had been a legendary warrior king in his prime. Strong, fast, courageous, he had been at the forefront of every hunting party, at the head of every army astride his steed, shield and spear in hand. Korra would never tire of hearing his war stories: the fabled Battle of Wan Rock when he and a group five hundred strong had faced an entire army, singlehandedly winning with only the land and their courage to protect them; or when he had defeated the chief of the infamous Rokuna clan in single combat, managing to slay the towering warrior for her mother’s hand. He had the scar along his spine to prove it.

Korra felt, somehow, cheated that her father would be taken down by some stupid cough, or some other measly illness. He deserved a proper death. A warrior’s death – to die fighting like his father had before him.

Naga shifted into an elegant lope as they reached a narrow, winding trail carved into the mountainside. Korra stood slightly in the saddle, ignoring the burning at the back of her mouth as green lizard-jays fluttered in the plants growing from the edge of the road. Their violently bright wings vibrated against the leaves, settling in for the night as Naga raced past.

Ahead, across a rickety wooden bridge, was a modest stone shelter, the gaping windows dark and lifeless. Despite the argument with her father, Korra was glad to see home. She eased her bear-dog into a walk, taking a deep breath, tasting the wood smoke on the air as the bridge creaked under Naga’s bulk. Atlantis was a safe haven; indeed, there was little to no crime, on account of the tight knit community. There was no need for doors or windows for protection – the only semblance of privacy was the thick curtain drawn across the entrances.

Korra dismounted smoothly, rubbing her eye and yawning as she padded up the slouched stone steps and pushed the curtain aside, Naga following her closely. The bear-dog’s whiskers tickled the back of her neck, the hot breath a comfort as she made her way into her dark home. The glow of her crystal illuminated the space, brightening into dim yellow when she used it to power a light set in the wall.

It was a well lived-in space: a great lamp was set cold and dark in the centre of the room, its clawed feet pinching the rush carpet covering the ground. She shuffled over to it, using her crystal to coax it to life. It flickered, and then glowed brightly, highlighting the comfortable looking cot near the wall.

“It’s good to be home.” She said to Naga, throwing herself in amongst the blankets and staring dazedly up at the ceiling. The bear-dog huffed in agreement, settling next to her and laying her head in Korra’s lap. Dark fingers found white ears, fiddling with their velvety softness idly. She could so easily slip into sleep – her eyelids were heavy and it was a struggle to keep them open and her bed was so comfortable and warm. And her body was aching after the weeklong trek on Naga’s back, dragging that night stalker’s body after them.

She was half asleep when Naga shifted, disturbing her. She moaned and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms, sitting up and stretching. She didn’t have the time to linger.

Summoning her wits, she pushed Naga’s head off her lap, getting to her feet and stripping her clothes methodically. She cast them aside, noting that the stone basin she used for washing was full of cool water. Someone must have thought ahead and filled it before she arrived. She was grateful as she grasped a cloth and wet it, goose bumps rising on her arms as she pressed it against her skin. It was cold, and the breeze from the open windows was sharp against her flesh.

When she was clean, she let the air dry her while she brushed out her long, dark hair, pulling it into a traditional bun at the back of her head, leaving it loose at the front. Naga watched steadily, her dark eyes shining in the light off the lamp. Korra pottered idly around her home, pulling her formal clothes out of a large chest and casting them onto the bed. She was expected to dress as a princess, as a future queen, at the celebratory harvest feast. Expected to show her people that she was the right choice after her father.

She wished she were taking part in the hunting display. Her team of hunters had been working on the harvest show since the night stalker’s demise. It would detail her victory against the creature, showcasing her prowess and strength to the Atlanteans. She found it odd that they were celebrating her hunting skills without her actually being involved.

When she was queen, she would change things.

“Almost done,” she said absently, yanking a pair of thin leather sandals from under a discarded cloak before trotting to the bed. She dressed quickly, her fingers fastening the ties on her skirt and tunic with practiced ease, buckling a thick formal belt around her middle. It was a tight, heavy thing and made quick movements difficult – she hated how limited she felt with it on.

Naga watched on, nosing at the floor and pushing her armbands towards her.

“Thank you.” She grinned and patted the bear-dog’s head affectionately as she scooped the bracers up. “We’ll get you ready next, girl. Don’t worry.”

Naga gave a noncommittal grunt, her large wet nose burying itself in the crook of Korra’s neck as she buckled the bracers on to her forearms. She laughed, pushing the beast away, allowing Naga’s tongue to lap at the palm of her hand.

“Shove off, Naga!”

The bear-dog shifted away, huffing as Korra sat on the edge of her cot, pulling her sandals on, wriggling her toes around the dyed blue leather. Finally ready, she sighed and pulled her crystal out from under her tunic, curling her fingers around it and murmuring a soft prayer to the ancestors. With any luck, this evening would go smoothly.

“Right, you next.”

Naga’s tail started thumping rapidly against the ground, soft little grunting noises uttering from her throat. Her eyes were bright and excited, ears pricked. Korra couldn’t help but grin at her companion, getting to her feet and wrapping her arms around the bear-dog’s barrel-like neck. She let out a light laugh, nuzzling into the thick white fur when she felt Naga nibbling at the top of her head.

No matter what, Naga always made her feel better.

 

…

 

Korra picked politely at her meal, staring out over the low stone table at the feast below. They were sat in the combat arena, a great long fire burning brightly in the midst of the hundreds of people eating and celebrating the harvest. The tables were groaning under dishes and dishes of delicious food: great hulking roasts stuffed with vegetables; platters of fish of every size and colour imaginable; stews, soups, breads and sweetmeats all had their place.

Korra did not have the heart to eat any of it. On her left, in his grand chair, sat her father. Imposing and watchful, Tonraq looked the picture of Atlantean pride and strength. Dressed in his royal robes, his feathered headdress sat high on his brow. The light from the fire was playing across his face, highlighting the ridges in his flesh, the lines of age.

But he looked _old_. He had barely touched the night stalker meat set in front of him, his huge hands resting solidly on the tablecloth. Korra shifted slightly, prodding her own food with her knife, sighing. She hated sitting around doing nothing. She wished she was out with Naga, exploring the city, climbing the statues and chasing lizard-jays.

“You should eat.”

She looked up into her father’s blue eyes, watching the way his mouth was curled into a steady smile.

“Same to you.” She replied, nodding at his plate. He rumbled a laugh, picking his utensils up and cutting a tiny piece of the stalker steak. She watched as he chewed the miniscule mouthful mechanically, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He then took to eyeing her beadily, brow arched expectantly.

She frowned back, cutting her own piece and taking a bite. The meat was gloriously soft and tender, melting in her mouth; the rich sauce a heady mixture of spices. It was delicious, as always. Their cooks had provided the very best for them.

They continued in this fashion – eating piece after piece, watching each other carefully. Korra barely tasted her own food, content to watch her father as he slowly but surely consumed half his stalker steak.

“Chief?” The voice interrupted her father as he was about to take another bite. He set his knife down, turning to address the sentry standing by his shoulder. Korra swallowed her own mouthful, staring out across the arena. Her people were moving the tables aside, creating a ring around the fire large enough for the performance.

It was time.

The sentry left Tonraq’s side and he got to his feet, raising a hand as the Atlanteans below broke into applause. The glow of hundreds of crystals lit her people’s faces, filling the arena with an eerie blue light countered only by the orange radiance of the fire. Korra straightened her spine slightly, pushing her plate of steak aside and schooled her expression into something neutral.

“My people, my friends, brothers, sisters.” Her father began, his voice ringing out. “Tonight we celebrate the Harvest – our ancestors have provided another year of sustenance, and we give them thanks.” He clasped his crystal in his hand, raising it to his lips and blowing. It burned brighter for a moment, awoken by his breath. Korra imitated him, watching as the Atlanteans did the same.

Tonraq gave a soft cough before continuing, “May they give us many more years of good fortune.”

He sat back down, taking a hasty drink of whatever was in his goblet. Korra watched on, nibbling her lip, worry encompassing her easy anticipation at what was to come. He passed her a reassuring glance, crossing his hands over his lap and turning his attention back to the open space below them.

If the Atlanteans were taken aback at the shortness of his speech, they didn’t show it. Instead, the steady hum of excited chatter rose like a flock of birds above the crowd, filling every corner of the arena as Korra watched her group of hunters emerge out of the darkness.

They were all dressed in traditional hunting outfits, their masks firmly over their faces. The first strike of the drum ushered in a deep silence. Not even the wind caused a stir. Korra sat forward in her seat slightly, her breath tight in her chest – she was half exhilarated, half nervous for her hunting team. And for Naga.

At that moment, the bear-dog emerged from the crowd, dressed in her armour. She looked magnificent, her powerful body hidden under boiled leather plates, dyed blue. The flare of a fin arched out of her head plate, continuing as a jagged ridge down her back.

The drums started up again, thundering slowly as the hunters joined Naga, lining up beside her holding their spears. Opposite them came the slithering night stalker, composed of the rest of her hunters clothed in the dead creature’s carapace. They wound their way towards the hunters, the drums beating faster, becoming a rumbling, echoing rhythm that made the hairs on the back of Korra’s neck stand up and her muscles clench in anticipation.

She wanted to run. She wanted to hunt. She was a warrior, and she wanted to fight, not be sat up at the table while her hunters did all the work!

But then they started dancing, and she lost herself to it. Naga bounded around the hunters, dodging and diving as the night stalker twisted and writhed. It was beautifully choreographed, fur and leather riding the wind as the hunters darted and twirled. Korra watched as they drove the stalker around the space, around the fire. Naga followed, a lone hunter sat on her back, a replica of Korra’s mask fitted over their face, spear raised.

The Atlanteans watching had begun to stamp their feet to each slam of the drums, their faces shadowed and skull-like from the firelight. Korra suppressed the urge to leap up and dance with them, her fingers curling into the arms of her seat, watching as Naga reared up and her counterpart raised her spear, tilting her head back and unleashing a feral war cry. The other hunters took it up, casting their voices to the sky, piercing the low fever of the drums.

The night stalker gave a screech, and the dance reached its climax, recreating Korra’s heroic leap by having the hunter representing her throw herself off Naga’s back and bury the spear tip into the sand by the stalker’s head.

The show was over. Korra relaxed back into her seat, heart pounding as the Atlanteans exploded into applause and shouts of triumph. It couldn’t have lasted more than five minutes, but it had still been exhilarating.

It made her want to hunt again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Shitfic:
> 
> Korea got home from the bug time and was like “oooooo im tired I need to go to bed and wank for a bit” but then daddie time. “korra” said tonraq … “korra” “my only son” “I mean fuck. Daughter’ “you must take over the clan and therefore why cant you marry a nice boy like mayko” “NAH DAD IM GAY AS HEEEEEELL” said korra while wielding 2 boomerangs and waving them around . “why is my life so hard” said tonraq. Mayo arrives. “im gay too” he said, it was fine overall


	6. Launch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey begins.

The iron-grey ocean parted like satin under the mighty hull of the _Kashmir_. Asami leaned against the cold rail, hanging over the edge, grinning into the sea spray as it rushed up to patter sweetly against her cheeks. The sky overhead was overcast, thunderous – furrowed with a coming storm; but she wasn’t concerned. There was something wild and wonderful about storms. She liked their freedom.

It had been a week since they had left Republic City. A whole week since she’d packed up her merge belongings and met Bumi Whitmore on the docks to board the finest ship she’d ever seen. She’d spent the first few days in her cabin, reading and rereading the books she’d packed, making detailed notes in a leather bound journal.

Eventually, her curiosity had gotten the better of her. She’d ventured out, walking the decks and taking in the wild sea. She’d never seen the open sea before – she’d been to the beach with her parents when she had been younger. But somehow, after her mother died, they hadn’t frequented the beach as often. Her journal had become less about ancient runes and more about the colour of the sky at dawn and dusk, and the sweet scent of the wind as it swept up off the ocean.

She pushed herself away from the railing, standing up straight and stretching. Her stomach yawned in hunger – she hadn’t eaten since the dry crackers she’d consumed over her Air Nation text that morning. She checked the slim watch on her wrist. It was six o’clock. Time for dinner.

The boat rolled over a wave as she headed for the lower decks and the mess hall where she usually retreated to a corner and ate her dinner in peace, away from the rowdy crew. She enjoyed listening to them all, laughing and talking over their meals – she was used to silence when she ate. Somehow, though, she felt a slight twinge of loneliness. A small part of her longed to join them.

She ducked through a narrow door into the main body, trotting neatly down a thin, long corridor.  Despite the transport ship’s considerable size, the living quarters were rather cramped. Not that Asami was complaining – as she understood it, the Zaofu engineered submarine was being held below decks as it was far too big to be launched from Republic City’s docks. Rather, Mister Whitmore had commissioned Zaofu’s finest ship builders to design, build and launch the _Kashmir_ to transport the submarine and the able crew to the launch site, some hundred miles off the coast of the Fire Nation.

To say she was excited would be an understatement.

The mess hall was large – large enough to hold the substantial crew – and lined with metal benches and tables. At present, it was full of the exhausted day shift, grubby and unshaven, talking loudly over thin broth and bread. She kept herself to herself as she joined the queue to collect food, pulling her notebook and pen out of her pocket and burying her nose in it. She had been sketching an albatross she’d seen arching over the horizon that morning, wings bowed with the wind.

She was pressing her pen to the paper when someone jogged her elbow, sending a streak of black ink across the parchment.

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t see you! Are you alright? You’re okay, yeah, I’m sure.”

Heart bounding in shock, half annoyed, she looked up into a pair of wide green eyes.

“It’s alright,” she replied as the young man gawked at her. “Really, it’s fine.”

“That’s good, then!” He gave her a crooked grin. “I’m Bolin, expedition cook. You’re the cartographer and linguist, aren’t you? Asami, right?”

He offered her a large hand to shake, his grip surprisingly gentle for his bulky size as she took it.

“Yeah, I’m Asami. How did you…?”

“Oh, Zaheer was talking about you with Kuvira. Something about your dad. Anyway, it’s good to meet you finally! Put a face to the name and all that.” Bolin shuffled closer to the food, a sprig of hair hanging over the point of his forehead.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I’ve even met the others yet.” She confessed as she grabbed a tray from the pile. “I’ve only met Kuvira, and Mister Whitmore.”

Bolin’s grin somehow got wider as he plucked up his own tray. “Kuvira’s great! Serious and all that, but great. And Bumi’s really funny. As eccentric as they come, of course, but he’s really great! Helped me and my brother out a lot.”

Asami peered at him, curious as they trundled along, the slightly nauseating smell of the stew wafting towards them over the canteen. Bolin’s nose wrinkled slightly.

“You call him Bumi? Kuvira told me to only address him as Mister Whitmore…” She bit her lip, feeling slightly embarrassed. Bolin laughed loudly.

“Oh, you believed her?” His grin was infectious and she smiled back, feeling herself relax slightly as he continued. “Yeah, it’s an inside joke, really. Feel free to call him Bumi.”

They collected similar looking plates of the thin stew, and heels of bread, before heading towards an empty table. The benches were cold and unforgiving under her as she sat down, Bolin throwing himself into the bench opposite her and leaning over his tray of food, twirling his chopsticks in one hand.

“So, where have you been hiding? I thought you weren’t even on board.” He asked, one thick eyebrow rising playfully as he chased an obscure piece of meat around his plate.

Asami smiled at him, flicking to the beginning of her notebook and showing him the complex sketches and diagrams of the path to Atlantis.

“I’ve been studying. It’s of utmost importance that I know exactly where we’re going and what we’re doing on the journey.”

Bolin shook his head as he took a bite, pealing open his bread and dipping it into the congealing liquid that constituted soup. He chewed fiercely for a moment, swallowing and speaking quickly. “So basically you’ve been stuck in your room for the whole week?”

“Not the whole week.” She replied defensively, eyebrow rising, fiddling with her spoon. “I’ve been on the deck too.”

But Bolin was grinning again and she couldn’t help but grin back, his huge shoulders lifting in a little shrug. “You should join us in the game room sometime. We’re always in there – I have to introduce you to the rest of the crew! We’re not a bad bunch, really.”

Somehow, the prospect of meeting the rest of the ‘crew’ unnerved her more than it should have. Mister Whitmore had made it perfectly clear that this assembly of people were the finest team he could find. Asami had nothing but her father’s name for credentials. She gripped the steel spoon tightly, swallowing her nerves.

“Tell me about them.” She said, scooping some of the tasteless broth into her mouth. Bolin’s eyes brightened.

“Well, I don’t have to – they’re coming now.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, still grinning, pointing to a crowd of rather ruffled people queuing for food. Asami examined them, recognising a couple of them from the photos Mister Whitmore had shown her in his office. They all looked cold. Kuvira was at their head, her sharp eyes roving over the room before locking with hers. That smirk was playing at the corner of her mouth again, her clothes tight and practical.

Asami’s gaze met Bolin’s and tilted his head slightly.

“Don’t be nervous.” He said, his voice soft and steady. “They’re alright. Just a little different.”

It took the group a little while to make their way over. Asami had all but finished her meal, using the bread to mop up the last of the soup as they stalked towards the table, meandering around tables and chairs. Her stomach bumbled with nerves, watching as a tall, thin man with sharp eyebrows collapsed next to Bolin.

“Hey bro,” he said, shoving Bolin aside with an elbow, his amber eyes fixing on her.

“Hey!” Bolin replied, pushing him back with his shoulder. “This is Asami!”

“You’re the cartographer, right?” Mako asked. He smiled stiffly when she nodded, holding out a hand. “Pleasure. I’m Mako, medical officer. I see you’ve met my brother, Bolin. Hope he hasn’t been annoying you.”

Asami smiled, taking Mako’s hand and shaking it lightly. “Ah, no. He’s been very kind.”

“Good. If he–”

But another voice cut across Mako’s as a short, thin man settled next to her.

“Oh, my. You’re a beauty, aren’t you?”

Asami felt her eyebrows knit together as Mako’s eyes rolled heavenwards for a moment. The man next to her was beaming, leaning on his hands, eyes sparkling. He was dressed in surprising finery, all green and yellow silks.

“Asami, meet Wu.”

“ _Prince_ Wu, Mako.” Wu said stuffily, before flashing Asami what he clearly thought was a disarming smile. Instead, she just felt vaguely irritated. “I’m the excavation officer! No one can charm badgermoles like I can!”

Bolin made a strange coughing sound as though he was covering a laugh. Mako looked bored, his chopsticks chasing down a particularly gristly piece of meat. Wu was still staring at her, as though expecting her to speak.

“Oh,” she said after a moment, feeling uncomfortable. “How do you… charm them?”

“I sing to them.”

There was an assorted huff of laughter from all around the table as the rest of the group settled into their places. Asami recognised Varrick from the photos – his thin moustache twitching as he twiddling his chopsticks, watching her through a pair of startlingly blue eyes. They made their introductions, the young woman beside him revealing herself as his assistant, Zhu Lee. Kuvira strutted past them, tray in hand, and disappeared from the mess hall.

“So! I hope you’re all ready to get going!” Varrick said excitedly as he dug heartily into his meal. “Zaheer said we’d be arriving later tonight.”

“Really?” Asami’s heart skipped a beat. She’d had no idea they were so close to Atlantis. Granted, the ship was very swift, and the wind had been in their favour. It was to be expected, she supposed.

“Yeah,” Bolin said, leaning conspiratorially over the table. “After dinner, we’re all going to get packed up and ready to go.”

Asami had a moment of fleeting panic as she envisioned all the books she had to pack away, and all her clothes. It would take a long time to pack them neatly… she really should get started. And if they were leaving tonight, she wanted to be fully prepared for anything they might encounter. The Journal had described huge snowy wastelands, jagged rocks and narrow paths.

“If you’ll excuse me.” She said suddenly, grabbing her tray and getting to her feet. “I’m going to get packed.”

“Sure!” Bolin replied, grinning at her again. “We’ll see you around!”

There was a chorus of ‘Good to meet you’s and Asami departed, dropping off her tray before making her way back out the mess hall and towards her cabin. The sea was wild and rough, the wind howling outside the strong steel walls. She hurried along tight corridors, listening as thunder rumbled overhead. Once they were in the submarine, they’d be far away from the storm.

 …

A whole three hours later, Asami was packed and ready to depart. Her books were stowed in a shoulder bag, her clothes stuffed around them. She took one last longing look at her tiny cabin, before she pulled on her thick red coat and hitched her bag over her shoulder. The stiff, heavy weight of the Journal was a comfort against her belly – she’d stored it in her coat’s inside pocket.

Her father’s gloves were warm around her hands as she closed the cabin door and made her way towards the deck, wanting to take a last look at the sea before departure. There was no doubt that the journey would be long, and dangerous.

A small part of her was afraid that she’d never see the sea again.

She staggered out into the rain, the collar of her coat providing little protection against the whip of the wind, and the sting of water on her cold cheeks. The deck was rolling under her, waves battering the _Kashmir_ ’s hull as she dragged herself to the rail to stare down into the iron-grey ocean.

She’d never seen anything like it. The waves were seething, white manes cresting their tips as they shifted below, alive and wild. Her breath caught in her throat, eyes wide as she gazed away across the horizon. Lightning was arching down to taste the water, thunder growling amidst the furrow of clouds above. She’d never been more awed, or more afraid, of anything in her life.

_Father_ , she thought suddenly, tilting her head back into the rain, feeling the fresh water on her lips, tasting it. _I hope you’re proud of me. I wish you were here._

Somehow, she knew he would be.

She remained there for a few more minutes, savouring the image of the sea, before she retreated back inside, making her way to the mess hall. The _Kashmir_ ’s crew were hurrying around, faces set with purpose. She stayed out of their way as best she could, settling on a bench in the empty eating hall and pulling out her notebook and a pencil.

She’s drawn meticulous maps of the path ahead, transcribing every detail the Journal had to offer. There was something missing, however. Towards the middle of the book, the Shepherd had begun to describe a power source, only to abruptly cut off on the next page and start describing Atlantean hunting practices. It puzzled her to no end and she looked over it for what felt like the hundredth time. It was almost as though there was a page missing.

“Asami Sato. Miss Asami Sato, report to the launch deck.” A tough, stern voice interrupted her thoughts and she looked up from her notes, heart fluttering in her chest. The voice repeated itself and she stuffed her notebook away, jumping to her feet and grabbing her bag. This was it. This was the moment she’d been waiting for.

She all but ran out of the hall and into the corridors, dodging around harried looking crewmen, and heading towards the staircase, jumping down them almost two at a time. Her chest heaved, breaths coming quick and hard as she hurried downwards into the belly of the ship, listening to alarms and footsteps and shouts. Excitement was a tang at the back of her mouth, nerves bumbling in her stomach, making her feel slightly sick.

She regretted eating dinner.

A decisive red arrow at the bottom of the stairs marked the launch deck. She rushed out, lost suddenly in a loud, pushing crowd of armed men in green coats. Pushing through them, she caught a glimpse of the submarine, suspended from the hold’s ceiling. It was bigger than she could have possibly imagined – mighty and iron and unstoppable.

“Asami!”

She turned her head to see Mister Whitmore standing there, his hand raised, black hair wild as always. Beside him stood a broad bald man with deep, dark eyes. Only one name came to mind – Zaheer.

She pushed her way towards them, beaming, holding onto her bag tightly, her boots clanking against the iron below. The air was thick with fumes and the thunder of the engines, chugging hard to maintain their position as the sea buffeted the _Kashmir_.

“Glad to see you made it.” Mister Whitmore grinned, taking her hand and shaking it vigorously. “Asami, I’d like you to meet Zaheer. He lead the team who retrieved the Journal from the South Pole.”

Zaheer offered a large, calloused hand and Asami took it, feeling the strength in it.

“Asami Sato. A pleasure to meet the daughter of Hiroshi.” His voice was silky, strong – oddly comforting. It unsettled her the way he looked at her, as though he was seeing _into_ her; past the windows of her eyes into her very soul. “I do not doubt we will have a successful voyage.”

Mister Whitmore was bouncing on the balls of his feet, staring excitedly out at the submarine. “Pretty impressive, isn’t it?”

“Sir, you really know how to settle a bet.” Asami replied, turning to the odd man.

“Your father always said that you could never put a price on the pursuit of knowledge. I’m just glad I could have helped.” He cast her a wistful look.

“Well,” she replied, offering her hand one last time. He took it, squeezing tightly, his eyes slightly misty. “I’m sure my father would be very proud to know his friend had done this. And believe me, this will be small change in comparison to what we’re going to learn.”

“Yes,” Zaheer said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, “this should be enriching for all of us.”

Another alarm blared, and the voice from before echoed over the tannoy, “Launch will commence in fifteen minutes.”

“Ah, Toph. As impatient as always.” Mister Whitmore said, laughing boisterously. “You should both get going, don’t want to miss it.”

“Of course.” Zaheer peered at her. “Miss Sato, if you would like to follow me? I’ll show you to the bridge.”

She nodded, before casting one last look at Mister Whitmore. He was smiling.

Then, she turned her back and followed after Zaheer’s long strides. He led her up a gangway, speaking orders to crewmen as they passed in that calm, collected voice of his, commanding absolute attention and respect. The submarine was huge – almost too big for her to comprehend, hollow and echoing as they passed into its belly. People were running to and fro, making way for both her and Zaheer, allowing them to climb a set of stairs without difficulty. Alarms howled, lights flashed, and her bag was heavy on her shoulder.

They emerged onto the bridge. The reinforced glass dome was tinted orange, clear enough to reveal the outside, but strong enough to withstand the pressure under the ocean. Asami only knew because she’d done her research.

“I recommend standing right here.” Zaheer said, walking to the edge of the observation deck. “You wouldn’t want to miss the launch.”

“Of course. Thank you.” She said, dropping her bag to the ground and taking hold of the rail. Outside, she could see Mister Whitmore standing there, a hand raised in a salute, his white suit a beacon amidst the chaos.

The submarine shuddered. There was a shout – Kuvira was striding on the deck below, barking orders.

A thunderous crash, and Asami gripped the rail tightly as the submarine hit the water. A potent mixture of fear and excitement thrilled up her spine as she watched Mister Bumi Whitmore raise his hand, waving frantically, his other arm hidden behind his back.

“Dive, dive!”

She’d done it. The moment she’d been living for, fighting for, had finally arrived.

She was going to Atlantis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shitfic:
> 
> Asam raised 1 perfeclt trimmed eyebrow and was like “games? Sounds like the type of shit straight people like.” And went and was gay for the sea for at least 5 more paragraphs. “I bet theres tons of hot girls in the sea” said asami. Bolin appear. “im the hetero sexual conic relief” he said . “ew” asam replied. Then bumi appeared and idk, did some crazy shit. And asam was like “theres way too many penises in this room rn?” so she jumped into the sea then she was in altlatincs and krora arrived and said “hey babe and they rode on the turtle duck and asami put her face on the boob.   
> unaualq appeared wihile they were having crazy kinky turtle duck sex and looked sternly on while fondkng his dreadlocks. “korra., my nephew, fucki mean neice. Think about what you are doing… the spirits.. the crystals… the fucking giant centipedes require ur attention and ur busy with ur fist in a vagina instead/? Is this what avatar leamnard nemoy would have wanted.” “fuck u old man im gay now for this landlubber” said korra. “okay I guess” said asam


	7. Seer's Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy... it's... someone new?

The void behind Korra’s eyelids was dappled with lights, pricking her vision like stars she’d never seen.

“Relax, steady your breathing. Let your mind drift.”

She was sitting cross-legged in the Seer’s glade, fingers laced in her lap, eyes closed as she tried to meditate. The oppressive heat of the day was making sweat trail lazily down the nape of her neck, the constant chirrup of lizard-jays buzzing in her ears.

She heaved a sigh, scratching her back where the bottom of her loose shirt tickled her. She cracked open her eyes. At her side, the Seer’s three children were in similar states of ‘meditation’ – the youngest of the three was actually snoring.

“Korra.”

She snapped her eyes shut again.

Every morning, after daybreak, her father insisted she meditate with the Seer and his family. She obeyed her father’s orders without question, settling in the same place on the same rock every morning just like she had for the past several hundred years. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think her ass was making an impression in the stone.

But Atlantean stone wasn’t like other stone.

“Alright, alright. I think that’s enough for today.” The Seer’s strong, steady voice broke her out of her thoughts and she opened her eyes, rubbing them with the back of her fingers as she slouched.

“When are you going to give this up?” She asked, grinning and looking to the Seer. His bald, tattooed head was shining in the light, grey eyes bright with intelligence. Beside her, his children were gathering themselves, shaking their heads and blinking blearily.

“When you learn patience.” He replied stiffly, maintaining his prone position. His back was so straight Korra imagined he had a wooden rod stuck up his robes.  “Patience, humility, respect and compassion are–”

“The makings of a good monarch,” Korra finished for him, laughing slightly. “Yeah, yeah, Tenzin. I get it.”

“Daddy, when Korra becomes Queen, will she still have to meditate with us?” One of Tenzin’s children, Ikki, broke in. She was staring up at him, eyes wide and innocent.

“Probably.” Korra answered for him, leaning back on her arms and stretching her cramped legs out. She’d been sitting in the same place for an hour. “What was it he said last time? Oh, yeah. ‘A Seer’s work is never done’.”

Tenzin cast her a chiding look as his children burst into boisterous laughter. She grinned back, waving her feet idly as the breeze kissed her flesh. He rolled his eyes in return before telling them to run along, slowly getting to his feet and padding to the pots of plants lining the glade of rock. The children did as they were bid, bounding away, red robes flurrying in their wake.

Korra pushed herself up, stretching her arms and cracking her shoulders. Tenzin was watering his plants methodically, the tattoos from his head cascading down his spine in a singular strip of blue, the Seer’s spirals marking his shoulder blades. They indicated his ability to see into the future, and into the past. The last remains of their dying culture.

“Still here, Korra?”

She started slightly, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly as Tenzin peered at her over his shoulder.

“I… yes.” She shifted to lean against the low wall, folding her arms across her chest as she stared down at the ground. She pushed against a loose stone with her big toe, considering her next words carefully. Tenzin gave her space to think, finishing with his plants and setting his jug aside.

“Do you… remember anything? From before, I mean?” She said finally, risking a glance up at him. He was watching her, hands clasped in front of him.

“From before the Mehbelmok?” He asked, returning to his seat on the ground and tucking his legs under him. He looked like a very wise bird, perched on his legs like he was about to take flight.

She scrambled to copy him, all but throwing herself down to sit on the same cold rock as before, staring at him curiously as he thought.

“I, like many people my age, remember fragments of the past.” He said at length, stroking his beard. “And a bright light. Fear, pain. Yes – I can remember that much. But not much else. It was a very long time ago, Korra. Why do you ask?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, frowning slightly, knowing her father would not like her asking questions.

“Because,” she forged ahead, determined to ask before her courage deserted her, “I’m confused as to how we, as a people, _forgot_ how to read and write! _And_ I want to know what’s up there!” She jerked a finger towards the stone ‘sky’ above, watching Tenzin’s face as his expression shifted from bemused to amused, his warm eyes crinkling at the corners with his smile. “I mean, we don’t even have a _sun_ like you see in the mosaics!”

He laughed softly, folding his hands together, knotting his fingers. “I will tell you all I know, Korra, but I cannot promise answers to all your questions.”

“That’s fine.” She replied hurriedly on the heels of a rush of relief. “I… well. You’re a Seer, and my father’s most trusted advisor. I thought if anyone knew anything, you would.”

“You don’t have to flatter me, but I will do my best.” He shifted slightly, eyebrows folding into a serious frown. Korra knew him well enough to know when he meant business. “Ask away.”

“What was it like before? What’s up there?” She fiddled vacantly with the material of her trousers, staring at him intently, listening. She was determined to remember every single word of this conversation.

“According to the ancient scriptures,” Tenzin began, but she cut across him.

“You can’t read them, right?”

He raised his eyebrows and she closed her mouth, throwing him an apologetic look. He cleared his throat, and continued. “According to the illuminations in the ancient scriptures, the above world is large and vibrant – full of warring peoples whom squabble amongst themselves. However, it is also where our souls go when we die. We ascend from this world and move onto the next, to be reincarnated.”

“Is that where my mother went?” She blurted, stomach clenching suddenly. Tenzin’s face went soft, offering her a small, reassuring smile.

“Korra–”

“I mean, I’m over it.” She interrupted hotly, wanting to make absolutely sure he did not doubt her abilities. “I just… I’ve been dreaming about her a lot recently.”

Tenzin’s eyes lit up with interest, his long fingers tracing the carvings in the rock below as he studied her. “What have you been dreaming about? Specifically?”

“The Mehbelmok.”

“How long for?”

“A few months. Once or twice a week.”

“The same dream?”

“Yes.”

Tenzin’s brow knitted together, furrowing as though he was in deep thought. His fingers had stopped their idle wanderings, frozen in place on the edge of a particularly detailed swirl. Korra watched him, spine straightening as awareness rang in her ears.

He opened his mouth as though about to speak, then closed it again, humming deeply.

“What?” She asked, sitting up on her knees and settling against her heels, hands resting on her thighs.

“The women of your bloodline have been known to dream prophetically before times of change.” He said at length after a few moments tense silence. “And, had it not been for my own visions, I might have dismissed this as little more than normal dreams.”

Korra’s breath caught in her throat, eyes wide. “You... you got your Sight back?”

Tenzin sighed and looked up to stare into her eyes, his mouth a thin line. “While you were away, I saw something. Something beyond the usual – in the voice of the wind, and in the flicker of the fire, the Ancestors granted me a vision of what is possible to come.”

“What did you see?” She demanded at once. Tenzin hadn’t had a vision since a time Korra couldn’t remember.

“I am not sure.” He admitted carefully, splaying his fingers against the stone below. “The Ancestors are vague at the best of times, even before the Mehbelmok. However, your own dreams have confirmed my suspicions. Change is coming, that much is clear. Whether it is good or bad, that remains to be seen.”

Korra’s mind was racing. Nothing was adding up – first, her dreams actually _matter_ , something she dismissed. Women of her bloodline having prophetic powers? That was something her father had neglected to tell her. Then Tenzin’s vision, indicating he has his Sight back after over ten thousand years of Blindness. What change could possibly be coming to Atlantis? The waters of her world had been stagnant for so very long – the routine of life spinning out over and over again, never stopping, never changing.

A prickle of fear ran down the nape of her neck. She squashed it at once, angry with herself. Change was nothing to fear. As Tenzin would say, change is a part of the natural order of life. Like death, it is inevitable.

“Tenzin?”

“Yes.”

“Why did the Mehbelmok happen?”

He blinked at her, then smiled kindly, plucking a stone from the ground and fiddling with it.

“You know the story as well as I do.”

Korra snorted. “I know the story everyone _else_ knows. I don’t know the story _you_ know. Why did we forget how to read, for example? Don’t you think it’s odd that we have?”

Tenzin cleared his throat and Korra grinned inwardly. It wasn’t hard to get Tenzin to tell stories – he was willing to speak for hours and hours on what little of their culture remained to them. He was a Seer by birth, but a scholar by heart. His predecessor, Aang, had been the greatest Seer to ever live, ruling alongside Tonraq’s father as an equal. They had been closer than friends – brothers by bond.

“Long ago, when Atlantis was one with the world above,” Tenzin began, his voice deep and wise as he spoke. Korra listened carefully, leaning back on her arms, “we had technology beyond imagining. We had great stone beasts we rode into battle, we traded across the world with distant nations – we had advanced medicines, weapons.

“We were at the pinnacle of our achievements, rising above the other nations and ruling over them. But the Sea Goddesses, Osoi and Marah grew angry. We neglected them, forgetting to pay homage to them, even as we took their children to feed our millions.”           

Korra knew the next bit off by heart. In revenge, Osoi caused a great flood, destroying the land around Atlantis, while Marah raised the waves in an attempt to drown the city. Raava, Goddess of Atlantis, took the form of a great glowing star – the light in the sky that had taken her mother away – to protect the city from the Sea’s wrath.

“And so, Raava lives under Atlantis, protecting us, and judging our souls when we pass.” Tenzin said finally, pulling at the shard of crystal at his neck. “They say that parts of her live within the crystals we are given at birth. When we breathe on them, we are speaking to her, and so she blesses us with her holy power.”

Korra peered down at her own crystal, noting its faint glow as she considered his words. He was watching her carefully – she could feel his gaze on her as she thought, his grey eyes sharp and aware.

“What else can you remember? Can you remember being able to read?” She asked slowly.

Tenzin shook his head. “I’m sorry, Korra, but I cannot remember anything. I know I must have been able to read and write before the Mehbelmok, but that knowledge has been lost to us. Perhaps, as payment for our crimes, Raava has made us forget.”

Korra nodded, thanking him softly. Tenzin would be of no more help. She would have to find the answers on her own.

She got to her feet, stretching her shoulders and yawning. Tenzin rose as well, brushing out his robes and folding his hands in front of him. His beard twitched as he smiled at her.

“Are you off?”

“Yeah,” she replied, grinning at him. “I’ve got to get Naga ready for the scouting trip. We’re taking the Hunters and exploring the Northern boarders.”

“Indeed?” He said pleasantly, stroking his beard. “I have been meaning to ask you – I was wondering if you would take Jinora with you one day. She’s been wanting to test her skills in the field for a while now.”

Korra blinked, taken aback. Tenzin, fiercely protective of his children, had never expressed interest in the hunt, nor of his offspring participating in it. She stuttered to agree, telling him to let Jinora know she had to be ready by that evening if they were to make good time.

“How far beyond the boarders are you headed?” He asked as they walked away from the Seer’s glade together.

“To the Soul Well.” She replied, tugging her thumbs into the waistband of her trousers.

He paused for a fraction of a second before speaking. “Your father’s orders, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

Korra peered at him, tilting her head slightly in question. He was examining her carefully, the light from above shading his eyes below his brow.

“I have no doubt it will be very enlightening.” He said finally, offering her a smile before continuing up the path. Korra followed, a little bewildered, but she decided not to push it. Tenzin, as wise and knowledgeable as he was, preferred to speak of things in his own time. It was no use forcing information out of him. At least, not forcing him too hard. Like a berry, squeezing too hard would make him explode.

They bid each other farewell where the path broke away. Korra skipped over the stones, turning the conversation over in her mind. Tenzin’s Sight? Jinora joining her on a scouting trip? Dreams? Change?

Whatever the next few weeks held, it would no doubt be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: changed the Goddess of Atlantis' name because it makes more sense for her to be Raava *sighs for 1000 years*
> 
> Shitfic:
> 
> Then zaheer nd comboob were all figiting and stuff it was really bad , and Kuvira was lik e “lol im evil too” which like NOBODY saw xcoming because its not like she has like. Severe eyebrows or anything. So they all fought and korra did some cool shit with water and asam was like “holey SHIt that waters not the only thing that’s wet around here” and like. Everbody was kung fu fighting and idk I cant write fuckin action scenes anyway, comboob blew her head up, it was well tragic lyke if u crei everytim. Then korra and salami made out in front of a big crystkal lake or some shit and naga clapped with her little paws and everybody clapped and then they fell in thr fountain laughing it was so fuciking beautiful. And asam is the new king of water tribe 
> 
> (written by the glorious LordAxxington)


	8. Beast From Beneath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> idk, people die and salami has a panic

“You’ve really just got to be careful around him. He’s a right little pervert – but I have a feeling he’s overcompensating for something.”

Asami was flat on her back on the hard, thin bed, staring up at the iron ceiling while Opal, the engineer from Zaofu, nattered away while she folded her clothes into a bag for the fifth time. The cabin was cramped – built for two people to live in for a short period of time. A narrow desk was wedged into the space at the far end of the room, the bunks alcoves in the walls.

“Why does he call himself ‘prince’?” Asami asked, rolling onto her side to peer down at the other girl. Opal laughed softly, zipping her bag up and dumping it on the floor.

“It’s said he’s a noble from the Earth Kingdom.” She said, smiling kindly up at Asami as she slumped into the tiny desk chair. “But after the revolution… well, he’s keeping a ‘low profile’.”

Asami felt her eyebrow rise in a mixture of bewilderment and amusement. “Who told you that?”

“Wu himself, of course.” Opal grinned, fiddling absently with the silver bands on her right wrist. “But I don’t believe him. His badger-moles are cute, but he couldn’t sing coal up a passage – spirits know why they obey him.” She paused, as though thinking about something, and then sniggered. “I think he calls himself ‘prince’ because he’s got a ‘little king’.”

Asami laughed before she could stop herself, closing her eyes as she tried to stop herself envisioning Wu’s little king. She had met Opal earlier that day when she’d been looking for her cabin, heavy, book-laden bag slung over her shoulder. The young engineer had taken pity on her and, after discovering they would be staying in the same room for the duration of the journey, had excitedly introduced herself. They’d been talking ever since, organising their belongings and swapping stories about the other members of the crew.

She’d so far discovered that Mako had been in the Republic City police department as a medical officer before ‘questionable circumstances’ involving his brother, Bolin, and a cabbage cart had earned him his expulsion – Opal warned her not to mention salad around him. Varrick and Zhu Li had been arrested no fewer than fourteen times in the past three years for ‘dodgy business associations’ (Asami took that to mean weapon dealing) and had managed to break themselves out every time. They were currently on the run from every country east of the Fire Nation.

“What about Zaheer?” Asami asked finally, when they had both settled down. Opal suddenly went very still, her expression frozen in something that looked like fleeting panic.

“Oh, we don’t really talk about him.” She said carefully. “No doubt you’ll meet the rest of his uh, associates today.”

“Toda– Oh. Of course.” Asami grimaced, nerves bubbling in the pit of her stomach. She had been asked to perform a lecture on the journey ahead, and it was of utmost importance she got it right. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself in front of the crew.

“You’ll be fine.” Opal stated kindly. “If Bumi employed you, we know you’re the real deal.”

Asami smiled and nodded, thanking Opal for her kindness, before diving into her bag and pulling out the Journal and her notebook. It didn’t hurt to be over prepared, after all. She examined maps and diagrams, fiddling with her pen and frowning. The journey to Atlantis was a long and difficult one, full of dangers she couldn’t quite comprehend. It was almost as though there was another world _under_ them, complete with its own eco and weather systems. It was hard to believe it was even possible.

“You know,” Opal said after a few minutes of silence while Asami pored over her notes. “I never got to see the Journal up close. My mother was part of the original team to retrieve it. That was before she decided to settle down in Zaofu.”

“Oh?” Asami looked up. Opal was pulling on a pair of oil stained overalls, patting down the pockets and pulling out a small wrench. She frowned at it, and then stowed it away in another pocket.

“Yeah, my mom and dad met on the mission.” She continued, bending over and doing her laces up. “Dad’s an ancient architect scholar and mom’s an engineer like me.” She grinned and flexed an arm, winking up at Asami. “Taught me everything she knows.”

Asami hesitated for a moment, then folded the Journal closed, leaning down and offering it to Opal. The young engineer took it carefully, handling it as though holding sugar glass. Her fingers traced gently over the rune embossed in the front cover, before she opened it.

“Woah…” She whispered. “It’s… really beautiful. And old.” She then tilted it down, showing Asami an upside-down page. “You can read this?”

Asami nodded, grinning at the look of awe on Opal’s face. “It’s my job. The words… they’re a bit tricky, but they start to make sense if you stare at them for long enough.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it. Speaking of, you’d better get up to the bridge – we’ve got your lecture in about fifteen minutes.”

Asami felt her stomach contract in a potent mixture of fear and surprise, and she looked at her watch, eyes widening. Opal’s face didn’t loose its amusement as she started scrambling around, stuffing her notes and pens into her bag. Finally, she slid off the top bunk, landing hard and shoving her feet into her boots.

“Here,” Opal said as she pushed the Journal into Asami’s bag and zipped it closed. “I’ll see you in a few – gotta check in with the engine crew to make sure everything’s ‘ship shape’. You know how to get to the bridge, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Asami panted, hitching her bag further up her shoulder. “Just keep going up until you can’t go up anymore.”

Opal laughed. “Sounds about right.”

Asami gave the other woman a last, thin smile, before hurrying out the room, her hastily tied laces coming undone several times as she all but sprinted down the corridor and up a flight of stairs. She eventually resorted to stuffing the laces inside her boots and continuing upwards, taking the steps two at a time, her hand her anchor on the handrail. Her breath sawed in and out of her, a stitch yawning in her side as she scrambled upwards. She wanted to be at least ten minutes early to make a good impression, and to set up the blackboard she’d been promised.

It was quite staggering how huge the submarine was. It took her a whole seven minutes to work her way up from the living quarters to the bridge, where Kuvira was stationed – a black slice against the orange windows, observing her kingdom like a queen. Asami leaned heavily against the rail, trying to control her breathing and listening to the jackhammer of her heart against her ribs. She’d spent too much time behind a desk.

“You’re early.” Kuvira said as she approached, the familiar smirk curled on her lips as though she was sharing an inside joke. Asami heaved a sigh, rubbing her side.

“I wanted to… set up before everyone got here.” She said between breaths. Kuvira laughed silkily.

“You don’t need to worry about that.” She turned slightly, nodding to the blackboard and chalk waiting for Asami. “The crew are usually five minutes late to everything.”

“Oh…” Asami made her way past Kuvira to the blackboard, dumping her bag on the floor and pulling out her notebook, flicking to the first page. She spent the next few minutes reviewing her notes again, mentally planning her presentation for what felt like the tenth time. She could do this – this was just like her talk at the museum. Except… to real people, rather than masks.

Her stomach squalled with nerves again, but she mastered herself, taking a deep breath and counting to ten. She knew what she was talking about.

The space behind her gradually filled with people. Bolin gave her a hearty wave and a grin when he saw her, only to be nudged in the ribs by Mako when Zaheer appeared, creepily calm and collected as always. Three people Asami hadn’t met yet followed him and she assumed these were his ‘associates’. One, she noted, didn’t have any arms. Instead, two curiously designed prosthetics poked out of her blue shawl. Asami could have sworn she saw the fingers on one moving.

Varrick and Zhu Li followed quickly after – he was talking loudly about his evening routine to anyone who would listen. Namely Opal, who shuffled behind him with a bemused expression on her face.

When they were all settled, and silence fell, Zaheer spoke coolly. “Good afternoon, everyone. I assume you have all met our linguist and cartographer, Asami Sato. As you may well know, we will be approaching the entrance to Atlantis within a few short hours. Miss Sato, if you would like to take it from here?”

She cleared her throat, and her nerves vanished. She could do this. “Of course. Now, the Journal was not particularly descriptive of the approach to the entrance of Atlantis. The Shepherd merely calls it the ‘Well of Souls’. However, they do describe an ancient creature, sworn to protect the Well from trespassers.” Asami quickly drew a rough diagram of the creature from her notebook, the chalk scratching against the blackboard. Behind her, she heard Varrick say something about eating it with white wine.

A muffled laugh echoed around the bridge, but she ignored it.

“I suspect the so called ‘Leviathan’ is a statue or a mosaic, made to scare the superstitious.”

Asami turned to look at the group. They were all considering her curiously – Bolin was stroking his chin, brows twitched into a frown.

“So, we find this… statue and then?”

“According to the Journal,” she continued, offering Bolin a smile, “the path to Atlantis will take us down a tunnel at the bottom of the ocean.” She drew a rough copy of the path in her notes, the chalk powdery against her fingers as it scoured across the blackboard. “We’ll come up a curve and into an air pocket where we should find an ancient highway that will lead us to Atlantis.” She peered over her shoulder to see that they were looking at her with nonplussed expressions on their faces. “It’s a little like the grease trap in your sink.”

Kuvira’s face twisted in a smirk. “Cartographer, linguist, plumber… it’s hard to believe she’s still single.”

Another ripple of laughter moved around the crew and Asami felt her face flush with embarrassment. Something akin to shame was welling her belly – until she caught Bolin’s eye and he winked. It would take her a while to differentiate between mean-spirited laughter and jest.

“Sir, we’re approaching coordinates. But… you should come see this.” One of the pilots piped up from the lower deck. He was squinting out the bridge window, frowning slightly in thought.

Zaheer turned away, speaking softly. “Fore lights on – let’s see what we have.”

Two brilliant beams of light shot out the front of the submarine, the bridge lights dimming so they could see outside. The sea floor was littered with wrecks – ships, splintered amongst the rocks like they had been tossed aside by a furious god, wooden corpses barren and empty. Asami gaped, leaning over the rail to get a closer look.

“There are ships here from every era.” She said softly, drawing out her notebook and flicking through until she found an empty page, hastily sketching what she could see. First War Fire Nation frigates, Water Tribe canoe boats – even Earth Kingdom ships, all desolate and destroyed, their bones bare. There was something hauntingly beautiful about how still they were, illuminated by light for the first time in centuries. It made goose bumps rise up her arms under her coat.

“How close are we?” Zaheer said quietly in her ear. She jerked away from him in shock, staring at him for a moment.

“Oh, um – hang on.” She darted quickly back to her bag, pulling the Journal out and opening it to the first page of directions. Zaheer waited patiently, his hands crossed behind his back as he surveyed the scene before them.

“The Journal tells us to ‘enter the lair of the Leviathan’,” she said, mentally translating the runes under her fingers as she returned to Zaheer’s side, “‘and there you shall find the… path to the gateway’. I think we’re looking for some sort of… crack in the sea floor.”

Zaheer dipped his head in understanding, turning on his heel and calling out a series of orders. Asami peered down at the Journal, fingers tracing over the warning embossed in the page: ‘Out of the creature’s mouth go burning lights… sparks of fire shoot out.’ The Leviathan couldn’t be _real_ , could it?

“What is it, Toph?” Kuvira’s sharp voice cut through Asami’s concentration and she looked up to see the intimidating looking woman standing over the old aged radio operator.

“If you had heard me calling we could have done this a lot quicker.” The radio operator snapped back. Asami realised with a jolt that the woman was blind – her sightless eyes glowered at the spot just to the right of Kuvira’s head, mouth turned into a scowl. “Anyway, now I’ve _finally_ got your attention, I think you should hear this.”

“Put it on loudspeaker.”

Toph flicked a switch, and an unearthly rumble filled the bridge. It was so low and so loud it reverberated around Asami’s ribcage, making the hairs on the nape of her neck stand up. For the first time, a trickle of apprehension dribbled down her spine.

“What is that? A pod of whales?” Kuvira’s lips were contorted in thought as she twiddled a dial on the radio. Toph huffed.

“I’m blind and I could have told you it wasn’t that. It’s bigger. And there’s only one of it. Sounds metallic.” Her scowl deepened as Kuvira pushed her chair aside slightly.

“It could be an echo off one of the rocks.”

“Do you want to do my job? Be my guest.” Toph grunted, crossing her arms over her chest. Kuvira opened her mouth to retort, but Zaheer clasped her shoulder, shaking his head.

The sounds had stopped.

An eerie quiet fell over the bridge, the rest of the crew standing stock still, straining their ears, listening with all their might to the silence of the ocean. Asami shared a concerned look with Bolin.

“Well, whatever it was. It’s gone now.” Kuvira said with finality, straightening to her fullest height.

The submarine jerked so suddenly; Asami didn’t have time to grab hold of anything. There was a roar of sound, so loud her head ached with it as she was tossed off the bridge and over the railing, landing hard on the window with a shattering thud.

 Alarms started blaring, shouts and screams issuing from all around her as she tried to pick herself up, Journal clutched tight in her hand – only to be tossed aside again as the submarine jolted.

“Load the torpedoes! Battle stations!” Kuvira bellowed from her place on the stairs, hands clamped tight around the rail. Asami shoved herself to her feet, sliding down the window as the whole submarine was tilted onto its front, her boots sliding against the window. She slipped, and hit the reinforced glass again painfully, her arm going numb.

Brilliant blue light illuminated the room from beneath her, and she gaped, heart thundering, mind frozen in fear and amazement as she stared into what was unmistakably an eye.

“Spirits above!” She heard herself saying, her voice thin and loud with fear. “It’s a machine!”

The eye contracted and glowed a deep, blood red. She shoved herself upright again, half jumping, half falling onto the iron wrought path. She hit it hard, her knees giving under her, smacking her head on the iron bar of the rail. The world spun around her, the Journal a leaden weight under her arm as she hauled herself up onto her feet and up the narrow steps onto the upper level, ignoring the deafening klaxon and flashing red lights. Her bag was sliding across the deck – she threw herself after it, the scream of metal tearing rending her ears apart, tasting blood where she’d bitten her tongue.

“Opal on the radio for you, Captain!” She heard Kuvira shout as she scrambled after her bag, finally grasping hold of the material strap and ducking into it. She clung to the rail as best she could, panic rising up her throat like sick as she watched Zaheer answer.

“What’s going on?” He asked, his voice eerily calm amidst the fear. He hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“We’re taking on a lot of water, and I don’t want to be here when it hits the boiler! We’ve about ten minutes at best before we’re dead!” Opal’s voice was crackling through the radio, tight and steady. “And that’s if the bulkhead holds!”

There was a muffled groan, and screams echoed out of the radio.

“Better make that five!”

“Alright.” Zaheer flicked another switch, and his voice echoed around the submarine. “Toph, sound the alarm – all hands, abandon ship!”

A hand grasped her arm, and Asami felt herself being yanked to her feet by a panic-stricken looking Bolin. His green eyes were wide, his face pale as he held the cuff of her coat and started dragging her away.

“What about the others?” She yelled over a new, piercing alarm. Bolin shoved her down some stairs, grabbing her hand and hauling her along after him.

“They’re on the Sub-Pods!” He shouted back, heaving himself forwards and breaking into a run. Asami hurried after him, clutching her bag to her, the Journal hard against her chest as they raced down a flight of steps.

They rounded a corner, and she tripped, hitting the wall with a crunch, which sounded suspiciously like bruised ribs. She cried out, the Journal slipping out of her grasp and sliding away, skidding to the edge of the steps and teetering there.

“No!” She dived after it, ignoring Bolin’s shouts as she plunged down and grabbed it. A wave of fresh panic washed over her as she stared down into a writhing mass of water, rising towards them with nausea inducing swiftness. Heart in mouth, she backed away from the edge, shaking, shuddering, shoving herself to her feet and grabbing Bolin’s collar.

Together, they raced down a corridor, swiftly joined by Kuvira, Zaheer and a few others Asami was too terrified to identify.

“Keep going!” Kuvira roared, skidding to a halt and twisting, grabbing a lever. She threw herself against it, and the flood door crashed closed behind them. Asami kept running, breath tight in her chest with fear. Bolin sprinted beside her, half crying, half yelling in terror.

They reached the escape pod with seconds to spare. Asami heard the flood door give way behind them with a muffled screech, and she threw herself into the pod, hands shaking as she sat in the nearest seat and buckled herself in. She could hear the others – and she watched as Bolin and Zaheer entered next, followed by Mako, Varrick and Zhu Li. They strapped themselves in beside her, Zaheer marching to the front of the pod and grabbing the controls.

The exit hatch sealed shut with a hiss, Kuvira hurrying next to Zaheer and grabbing another lever. She heaved against it, snarling.

“Hurry up.” Zaheer hissed – Asami was surprised to hear an edge of panic to his voice now.

“I’m _trying_.” Kuvira growled back, pushing back and kicking the lever with a singularly powerful shove. It snapped into place, and the escape pod came to life. Asami held onto her seatbelts for dear life, stomach churning, staring wide eyed and silent out of the front windows.

The escape pod cleared the submarine with a rattling bang – Asami was pretty sure she blacked out for a few moments, because next thing she knew they were speeding towards a crevice in the sea floor, blinding blue light arching in front of them.

“Is that the ravine you were talking about?” Zaheer shouted over the din of the engines. Asami howled an affirmative, too afraid she would be sick if she formed a real word.

Five other pods were with them – she watched as their pod streaked past them, diving into the ravine and into a narrow hole. Too narrow – the pod scraped and thundered against the walls like a stone going down a small hole. Her head was throbbing, her tongue aching, blood dribbling down her chin and into her lap as they were tossed around inside the pod, eye-aching light following them the entire way, distant roars echoing around them.

Asami shut her eyes and, for the first time in her life, prayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shitfic by Sy-itha (feel free to submit your own to my tumblr if you're up for it!):
> 
> Suddenly there was light everytwhere and Asami was liek omg! wtf!? and then from the light emergered Korra and she was like “SIMBA!” and asami awas likw “I’m not simba” and krooa was like G”oos” you’re way prettyiesr than him wanna make out?” and asami was like “hell yeah being of light! my names ‘ asami” “I’m korrsa, sup?” an then they kissed and had gaybies and everything was filled with mutlicolored reaperlight just like the masseffect 3 3ncding. the end.


	9. Strangers At The Gate

The light shattered the dark with blinding intensity.

Korra twisted on her heel, half blind, and scampered away, listening to the roar of the water and the distant thunder of her hunting team’s footsteps as they scrambled to shelter behind the rocks surrounding the Well of Souls. Jinora was keeping pace with her; Korra could hear her panicky breaths beside her as they ducked behind a boulder.

“What was… what was that?” She panted, clutching her crystal in her fist, blocking the soft blue glow. The weight of her hunting mask was a comfort, even as bizarre, alien sounds echoed from the behind them: the hiss of air escaping, the scrape of metal on metal – strange voices and a language she couldn’t understand.

“I…” Jinora pushed her mask to rest on her forehead, leaning carefully out from their shelter to peer owlishly into the open. Korra watched her, still blinking the spots out of her eyes. She’d never seen anything like it – a strange, white light, like an eye, erupting out of the water of the Well. Jinora settled next to her, nibbling her lip, fingers tracing her crystal in thought.

“Jinora?” Korra asked softly, fingers tightening on her spear.

“I don’t know… lost spirits, perhaps?” Jinora peered up at her, eyes dark with fear. “They came out of their metal beast. I don’t understand their language.”

Korra shoved her mask off her face, leaning out around the boulder to examine the strangers. There were more metal beasts – smaller than the first, opening their mouths and expelling the lost spirits within. They had come in number – mainly males, dressed in strange, warm clothes. They were calling to each other, their language harsh and loud in the hush of the Well.

“Too many to fight.” Korra concluded, slumping against cool stone and sighing, staring at the ground. Jinora hummed in agreement, fiddling idly with the dagger shoved into her belt. The Seer’s daughter had quickly become an able warrior, proving herself a trustworthy advisor.

“I think we should retreat. Watch these spirits from afar. Tell the others to meet us back at camp.” Jinora pulled her mask back down over her face, her crystal making the eyeholes glow. Fashioned into the likeness of a snarling spirit, the mask gave her a vaguely terrifying look. Korra nodded, pulling her own mask down and pushing herself into a crouch. Her breath rattled against the clay as she stood slightly and gave a signal over the roll of rock. She watched as her hunters emerged from their hiding places, skimming the shadows and ducking into the tunnels bored into the walls.

Jinora made a complex movement with her hand – a Seer’s blessing to guide the hunters on their path – before she and Korra edged slowly out from behind their boulder. They moved swiftly and silently, boots skimming over well-worn rocks and ruins. Behind them, the spirits were making their way to shore; Korra watched in risked glances as they guided their metal beasts to the edge of the Well. The hairs on the nape of her neck prickled, goose bumps rising on her arms as they scrambled up an incline towards a small outcrop.

Vestiges of an ancient past surrounded the Well of Souls; directly in front of it rose an ancient stairway to the gaping carving of an owl God whose name had been long forgotten. It guarded the way to Atlantis, demanding tribute from even Korra and her hunters. They had offered an armoured plate from the night stalker, laying it carefully at the God’s mouth before venturing anywhere near the Well.

Korra heaved herself up onto the outcrop, surveying the cavern below as the lost spirits gathered at the foot of the stairs. One, a dark haired female, was staring around the place, clearly awed which the rest of her group busied themselves with heaving their metal beast up onto the shore. The Well of Souls rippled, lapping at the walls before going eerily still.

“How did they come through unharmed?” Jinora murmured, huddling beside her and peering out. “The Guardian should have driven them away.”

“Perhaps that is why their beasts are dead.” Korra muttered back, digging her fingers into the rock. They were unloading more metal creatures from the bodies of the dead ones, rolling them out. The dark haired female was helping now, heaving a heavy wooden crate out and depositing it on the ground before hurrying back to her fellows.

“Vaatu, Guardian of the Deep, lend us your strength.” Jinora whispered, heaving a sigh and shaking her head. “What if they killed Him?”

Korra shrugged, “He can’t be killed.”

Jinora did not look reassured.

They continued watching the strangers in silence, huddled on the outcrop until their legs went numb. They were heaving two living creatures out now – huge, hulking things with brown fur. Korra watched, eyebrow raised as one of the spirits started singing in a high, warbling voice. The creatures followed him, snuffing at the ground.

He stopped. The spirits had gathered around the Well, abandoning their dead beast and huddling around a small flame. Korra watched, curious, leaning a little further out to watch as they pushed the tiny flame out into the Well’s water, floating it out in a bowl shaped hat. Silence fell and the spirits bowed their heads.

Korra spoke softly, “We should move. Go back to camp and tell the others what we have seen. While they are distracted.”

Jinora nodded in agreement, shifting and rubbing the feeling back into her legs. Korra stayed where she was, casting one last lingering look at the dark haired female. She had something in her hand – something bound in leather – and she was tracing her fingers over it, lips forming words.

It took her a moment to realise that the spirit was _reading_.

She grabbed Jinora’s arm, pointing to the spirit and throwing the seer’s daughter a confused look. Jinora looked just as nonplussed as she felt, her eyes wide.

“We should go.”

Korra nodded, and together, they slid away into a dark tunnel in the rock. Her mind was abuzz as they climbed, fingers and feet finding nooks in the rock, their way lighted only by the glow of their crystals. Korra’s arms burned with exertion, her breath coming hard and fast as they hit a particularly steep incline. Behind her, Jinora was close on her heels, murmuring apologies to the spirits of the rock as they went, sometimes dislodging stones.

…

“This place is amazing!” Asami said from her passenger seat in the truck. Bolin was merrily jiggling the wheel next to her as the troop wound their way up the steep staircase. She was slouched in her seat, the Journal open on her lap, as they approached the yawning face of the owl-like sculpture at the top of the stairs.

“What is that, anyway?” Bolin said, nodding to the sculpture. Asami pushed her reading glasses higher up her nose, tapping the inscription in the Journal.

“It’s the face of the spirit of knowledge, Wan Shi Tong – He Who Knows Ten Thousand Things. You might know him as the owner of the Spirit Library my father discovered a few years ago. He was known as the warden of the slaves–”

“Slaves?” Bolin tore his eyes away from Wan Shi Tong to gawp at her. “Atlanteans owned slaves?”

Asami nodded, smiling slightly as she peered at him over her glasses. “The Shepherd _was_ an Atlantean slave – I’m fluent in Taisic, language of the slaves.” She flicked to the end of the Journal, where lay the Shepherd’s personal inscription. “His name was Wan, and he was a gladiator. He won his freedom, and left Atlantis a little after the disaster – he calls it the Kloud Draak, or the Great Flood.”

“Huh.” Bolin went back to watching the road, shivering slightly as they passed through Wan Shi Tong’s mouth. Darkness swallowed them, except for the beams of light issuing out of the headlights.

“Indeed, most cultures are guilty of historic atrocities.” She continued, pulling her reading glasses off and tucking them into her pocket. “Even our ancestors are not innocent.”

Bolin threw her a look as they passed back out into the light. They were on a wide track, ruts from ancient carts carved deep into the stone. Asami ducked her head out the side of the truck, craning her neck to stare, fascinated at the impossibly high ceiling above. The light from the trucks illuminated the cavern’s walls – ancient carvings depicting strange beasts and hunters followed them as they wound their way along. Asami studied them all, flipping open her notebook and taking careful record of them.

The path ahead, she knew, was dangerous and long. It would take them at least three weeks to get anywhere near the outskirts of the ancient city, and a further week to penetrate the ruins. All in all, Asami was expecting the expedition to take at least a few months. Her excitement was tangible; bubbling, boiling in her stomach. She had spent hours on her bed, staring up at the ceiling when she should have been sleeping, fantasising about Atlantis. What would they find there? Ancient ruins? Perhaps whole buildings, untouched by time – the possibilities were endless! At the least, she hoped they would find some pottery and artefacts. Just enough for Mister Bumi Whitmore’s shred of proof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (As an apology for the lack of length, and the time its taken, have lots of shitfic.)
> 
> “jinor” kora whispered. “does this hav something to do w….. SPRIITS” . “ye I reckon so” said jinareo shiftily. She didn’t know fuck about spirit.s. kora was like “wpw……. Those earth creatures are fit aint they” then tenzin appear. “korea! We cannot trust them. Theyee not like you and me which means they must be evil now we sound the drums of war” and korra was conflicte.d. “raava gime strength in this time of need?” she said. Raava appeared. “ur a little bitch lol” it said then swam away
> 
> “wow “ said bolin jiggling his dick merrily “I cant believe the fuckinfg?? Atlanteans had slaves?? Its almost like all cultures are guilty of historical atrocities” “yea lol I guess. Do u reckon wan was fit or what” asked asam, daydreaming about korras back. Korea sneezed . “u ok” asked jenor “ye it just seemed like some1 was thirsting over me somewhere???” korea answered. Jinor considred this in a wise manner. “it was probably mayko again” she conciluded. They carried on looking at furries nd asam emerged out of the owls butthole. “its owl over now” said bolin. Asami hit him on the face


	10. Scout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Green eyes, dark tales.

“They’re settling down.”

Korra looked up from the shadows of her bag, brow pinched as Naga nuzzled the crook of her neck. Kai, one of Korra’s scouts, was crouched on an outcrop of rock above the main path, staring down watchfully through his lizard-jay mask. She pushed Naga’s cold, wet nose away from the crook of her neck and got to her feet, striding purposefully to his side and leaning over, taking a look for herself.

They had been following the spirits for a couple weeks, using the high paths carved centuries ago by previous hunters. Korra had grown ever more fascinated with them, observing their behaviours and taking note of each member of their small group. However, she’d been keeping a careful distance, wary of their strange machines and weapons. Tonight, that was going to change.

She’d sent two of her party ahead, instructing them to tell her father of the strangers, and her observations of them. It would not do for Atlantis to be unprepared. She had reasoned that by not attacking them on sight, she was exercising the famous patience and reservation Tenzin had been beating into her skull for her whole life. No doubt the seer would be proud.

Tonight, however, she and a select few were going to steal into the camp and collect information. She, personally, wanted to take a closer look at what the dark haired female had been reading. The thought of the text had been an almost endless torment to her – she’d dreamed about its thin, worn papers. When consulting Jinora about it, the young seer had been in two minds. On one hand, she’d said, while chewing on some jerky, the dreams could be the product of her current obsession. On the other, her ancestor’s prophetic powers could be directing her to the book. Jinora had been rather vague about the whole thing.

“We move as soon as possible. Jinora, Kai – come with me. The rest of you, stay here, guard the camp and keep an eye out. Send signal at sign of trouble.”

The other hunters murmured their agreement, some turning to their mounts and drawing off their packs, setting up sleeping sacs, others sharpening their spears, murmuring prayers to Vaatu for strength and luck. Korra watched them all for a moment, allowing her heart to swell with pride as her hunters readied themselves for the night ahead. Then she turned aside, seeking Jinora’s gaze amongst the group. She nodded slightly, and made her way towards her, collecting her seer staff and mask.

Kai was still perched, birdlike, on the rock, the severe jut of his mask’s beak completing the look. The dagger shoved into his belt glinted in the half-light, his thin, light fingers tracing idly over its hilt. He was in thought.

 “What’s wrong?” She asked softly.

He stirred slightly, and turned to her, his mouth splitting into a grin. He was of age with Jinora, yet seemed so much more at ease. “Nothing. Just want to get on the road. We mounting up?”

“Only as far as the road, then we take the rest of the way on foot.”

Something cool and wet filled the palm of her hand, and she grimaced, turning to see Naga sniffing her fingers, tongue lapping at her fingertips.

“Someone’s eager to be off.” Jinora had appeared, mask in place, staff solid against the stone ground.

“She’s probably looking forward to climbing down there. Aren’t you, girl?” Korra ruffled Naga’s head, grinning at the familiar thump thump of the bear-dog’s tail. Naga nuzzled Korra’s belly with her nose, snorting and huffing, plucking at her shirt affectionately. She laughed, taking hold of Naga’s ears and tugging on them gently, then she pushed the bear-dog away. She had a job to do.

She retrieved her spear and mask, securing it over her head and hauling herself into Naga’s saddle. The bear-dog rumbled, leaning down to nibble at her paw, giving Korra a moment to make sure her mask was on properly, and that the cloak wasn’t caught in her clothes. Kai and Jinora mounted their own steeds – plucky, strong ox-goats, perfect for mountainous terrain. Their short, solid legs were strong and steady; Korra had seen an ox-goat climb an almost ninety-degree slope at a gallop, and that had been while mounted.

Naga wheeled around, allowing Korra to give her remaining hunters a final salute – they responded in kind, patting their right shoulders respectfully – before starting down the steep path. Kai and Jinora followed closely behind, the soft sound of their ox-goat’s hooves almost loud in the hush. Naga’s paws were a whisper on the stone as she slipped down off the path onto a harrowingly narrow ledge. Korra pressed her body close to the saddle, letting go of the reins and allowing the bear-dog as much room to move as possible. Behind her, she could hear the skittering of stones; the ox-goats following close behind.

The spirits’ camp was quiet. Here and there, the embers of their fires burned low, casting shadows amongst the slumbering shelters. Korra’s eyes trailed over the humped shapes of them – tents, erected quickly in the dusk hush. Their metal beasts slept also. She could hear the metal ticking as it cooled in the night, almost drowned out by the ruffling snores of the two creatures the spirits used to dig through the earth.

“Ah–!”

A stone shattered on the path below and Korra twisted her head to see Kai leaning over the saddle of his ox-goat, staring down into the abyss. A pair of baleful eyes peered back at her, and the beast huffed, nostrils flaring. Satisfied the seer and the scout were safe, Korra turned to stare between the shields of Naga’s ears.

It took them nearly an hour to reach the road. The glow of their crystals remained an unwavering guiding light to the hunters above – every now and then a face would appear over the ledge, peering down to check on their progress. Korra slid off Naga’s saddle, giving her a stick of jerky as a reward, and a rub of her head.

“Thanks girl.”

“That was sort of… terrifying.” Jinora said, her voice trembling with exhilaration as she dismounted, patting the ox-goat’s nose in thanks.

“We scouts do things like that all the time.” Kai replied – Korra restrained a laugh as he subtly flexed his arms. Jinora chuckled softly.

“It was almost as scary as when we go flying.” The seer rubbed her ox-goat’s horn. “We dress ourselves like the lizard-jays and fall off the edge of the world. It’s quite fun.”

“O-oh.” Kai cleared his throat. “That sounds… uh…”

“You should join us sometime.” Jinora’s voice was teasing through her mask. Korra could just see the shadow of her eyes, bright and filled with mirth. “I’m sure a _brave_ scout like you would have no problem with it. My younger brother does it all the time.”

“Sure.” Kai croaked.

They led the ox-goats off the road, securing them in an alcove the spirits wouldn’t be able to see. Korra hesitated as Naga peered at her expectantly. After a moment of deliberation, she nodded and led the bear-dog back out into the open.

“Naga comes with us.” She said softly, crouching down. Kai and Jinora settled either side of her, listening carefully as she spoke. “We go into their camp and have a look – but if there’s any sign of them waking up, any at all, we leave at once. Leave no trace of our presence. Quick, quiet, effective. Gather as much information about them as we can. All right?”

They nodded and rose smoothly to their feet. Their boots were quiet against the road – Korra took note of the deep ruts in the ground, dug up no doubt by the wheels of their metal beasts. They stole into the camp with all the subtly of thieves, the glow of their masks eerie in the half dark. Kai and Jinora split away, going in opposite directions while Korra led Naga through the alley of tents. Snores echoed around her, feet and shoes poking out the ends of some shelters.

Korra moved quickly, Naga on her heels, breath hot against her back. She knew where she was going, but her heart was high in her throat, throbbing with nerves. Her grip on her spear was tight, sweaty, snorts and jerks of the people around her keeping the low bumble of tension tight in her stomach.

Naga made a soft ‘uff’ in her throat. They had arrived at the dark female’s tent. It was in pristine condition – erected with a precision Korra had come to expect from the spirit. It was said you could tell a lot about a person by the way they made their shelter. Some were slapdash, eager to be off, and so their tents reflected this. Others, like the female’s, were precise but hardy.

Slowly, carefully, Korra knelt down and pealed open the flap of the tent, stomach bumbling with nerves, sweat lining her brow.

Her heart went cold.

It was empty. The sleeping sac was abandoned and shoved aside, as though its occupant had left it in a rush. All around it were piles and piles of parchment, but not the text she was looking for.

Kai’s scout call came to her softly over the heads of the camp, and Korra pulled her head out into the open. He was stood on a small hill where a table was set; a figure slumped over its surface, lit by a dying candle. He waved his hand, and Korra hoisted up her spear, lancing through the camp as swiftly as the wind, Naga at her heels. For her size, the bear-dog was surprisingly agile.

Kai’s lopsided grin was visible under his mask as Korra came up beside him. It was the female, snoring softly, strewn over her desk in slumber. Under her head was the text. Kai patted her shoulder and turned, scampering back into the camp and disappearing behind a tent. Korra turned back to the table, pulling up her mask as she considered her options.

The last thing she wanted was for the spirit (although she was starting to doubt the eligibility of this theory) to wake up. Not only would that put Korra and her hunter’s lives in danger, but perhaps put even the whole of Atlantis in jeopardy. Jinora had been very insistent about keeping the knowledge of their existence a secret from the spirits, lest it incite the wrath of the gods.

She propped her spear against the desk, and Naga wandered aimlessly around, sniffing idly at one of the female’s boots. She shoved her nose into it, huffing and grunting softly. Korra watched, on tenterhooks, as Naga struggled with the boot for a moment, before the bear-dog squatted and used her forepaws to pull it off. It thudded to the ground, and Korra hissed sharply. Naga crouched low to the ground; ears flat against her head, tail wagging slightly in apology.

Giving the bear-dog a final stern look, Korra turned back to her dilemma. The book, or text, or whatever it was, was so close she could almost smell its worn, stale parchment. She pulled her mask over her head, making sure it covered her face, before reaching forward, the up glow of her crystal illuminating the female and her desk. With exaggerated care she pushed the spirit’s shoulder back, half surprised she could actually _touch_ her, rather than her hand going straight through. The female didn’t stir, her dark hair looking surprisingly ruffled as she slumped back into her chair, arms crossed idly over the book. Heart in mouth, Korra slowly moved the spirit’s arms aside, finally grasping hold of the text and hugging it to her chest.

It was heavy.

She opened it, still panting lightly in suppressed panic, and gazed down into its pages. She understood nothing. It was runes, though, the same runes that covered the walls of her home – indeed, some of the pictures were identical to the mosaics she had been staring at for the entirety of her life.

There was no question now.

The spirits were here for Atlantis.

She was still comprehending the notion when Naga gave a low warning bark. Korra’s head snapped up, and she stared into a pair of brilliant green eyes.

It was as though the world came screeching to a halt. Images flew through her mind – some she knew, others she didn’t: her mother being taken away; a man leaning over a desk, sobbing uncontrollably; Atlantis in the light thrown off the stones; a tall, unfamiliar building made of stone and finally the eyes. The eyes that were staring at her now, widening with surprise.

The spirit started to speak, but suddenly Jinora was there, blowing lightly on her crystal before pressing it to the female’s forehead. At once, she slumped back over her desk in dead faint.

Korra snapped out her daze, dropping the book on the desk like it was a poisonous spider. She then twisted around to see Kai dodging his way back towards them, his feathered cloak flying out behind him as he ran.

“We need to leave.” Korra murmured urgently. Jinora nodded and followed Korra to Naga’s side. They clambered up into the saddle – Kai joined them a moment later, hauling himself up onto the bear-dog’s back, before Naga was away, bounding swiftly and quietly through the spirit’s camp.

“What happened?” Jinora asked when they were at a safe distance from the camp, back at the alcove with the ox-goats.

“I don’t know.” Korra replied truthfully. “But I know one thing for sure. These spirits, they’re looking for Atlantis.”

“How do you know?” Kai asked, surprised.

“It’s… a feeling. And the book – it has pictures like the mosaics back home.”

Jinora went quiet behind her mask, her hand disappearing under it, no doubt to clutch at her crystal.

Korra did the same, murmuring a soft prayer to Raava, taking comfort in the familiar warmth of her own crystal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is this fic like 24000 words and not even like half done lmao
> 
> Shitfic:  
> So kora and the krew were all like "let's go fuck shit up,!" And jinaroio and Kai were all like "ooooooooooo wanna fly with me eh big boy" and Kai was like mmmmmm baby wanna touch These guns and kora was like IM TIRED of these TINY HETEROSEXUALS . she sneak into THR tent . Asam was there. "WOW!' Said Korra "Athats WHAT IM RALKING ROUT UESAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" andasami woek up like "what the flyin funk is this hot princess doing in my bed not that I'm complaining " but it was too late, jinarso di some crystal fuckin bullshit and she was out like a fuckin light. "Wtf" said Korra


End file.
